I go down to the Bay most mornings to see what’s up. Last week, early on the morning of that very full moon, it was NOT the tide. Even at low tide, Coffee Pot Bayou is a lovely place to sit and reflect, stretch, read or hum to oneself.
Assuming the Manatee Shrieker is not there. That’s what we call this woman who hangs over the edge of the seawall talking baby talk to the manatees. Non-stop, high pitched gibberish. She suffers under the illusion that they are coming to see
her when in fact, they are coming to the fresh water drain off that empties into the bayou right at that spot. When they slurp against the wall she says nonsense like, “I wub you too! You my little pretty girl! A kiss for me! Oh, tank you, you widdle wovey thing.” One morning she was busy pointing out to some tourists (I’m not one of those, thank you very much) that the “mommy was hugging her babies” when I was pretty sure it was a bull trying to mess around with the ladies at the wall. But what do I know? The other day I came within a short swift kick of accidentally knocking her in; Rich restrained me in the nick of time. He said, “She’s benign.” He’s so much nicer than I am. She needs a Bichon Bleu de Gascogne or something.
So, provided she’s not there, I enjoy that time in the early morning. The small green heron is always there. I put him up as my sidebar picture while I’m here in Florida. So now you know- if you see the brick wall of my courtyard, I’m in Chicago, heron is here
(Finally, and I’m so sorry to do it, but I turned on comment verification.I’ve wanted to avoid that hassle for commenters but I can’t stand the spam trackbacks I have to delete everyday. I hope it doesn’t mean that you won’t still have something to say. I mean, I’m willing to type in that gibberish to leave jabberwocky at your place. Why, I even go to some people’s homes when I know full well they’re rarely there. So, sorry, but thanks for your patience.)