We were driving to the grocery store (on our adopted road, of all places) when we saw a woman pulled off the road and taking a photo of something high up in a tree. (I call it a tree loosely. The wetlands around here have these fantastic old trees that are actually dead. No leaves or needles, no bark or branches even. Like nature’s utility poles, just waiting for the next hurricane to take them out. They make great nesting places for birds of prey, however.) Marcus glanced up and saw it, and immediately pulled off the road himself. “An eagle,” he shouted. “A real bald eagle.”
We got out of our car, pulled out our phones, and started snapping away. Cars, on what we consider to be a not-too-widely-traveled stretch of road, starting pulling off left and right, everyone jumping out of their cars with cell phones in hand. The eagle calmly turned his head from left to right, surveying the crazy people below him.
I don’t know which excited me more: seeing a bald eagle in the wild or seeing all the people who were excited about seeing a bald eagle in the wild.
