The Kingfisher

The Tamron lens is heavy, but positioning it on the car window, it is aimed steadily at the subject, still. The kingfisher is not fooled. His eyes are sharp and efficient--too aware. He is my challenge, but to him, I am another factor to figure in.

I stop the car as he watches, he, calculating the distance between us and the length of time before the trout returns to the water below. Kingfisher may fly, but he doesn’t.  Knowing he has the advantage, he lingers.  There is a shift in movement, either he or I. I know it is a risk, but I must adjust the direction of the lens ever so slightly to capture him.  

As I suspected, that movement sends Kingfisher off across the water, propelling himself effortlessly, vertically, up to the sky, then sailing through the air in unregimented directions, this crazed bird with a maniacal laugh. He is as fearless as the pilot in a crop duster aiming toward the earth below, plunging to his death, yet effecting a save at the last moment, upward.
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Kingfisher chooses a site further away to wait… to target his fish.  On his next descent, he does not abandon the mission, instead makes a full commitment into the water, a skilled diver focused on the prize below. He ascends victorious. Now!

The button does not click… My camera refuses to capture him. He disappears with only the memory in my mind.
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Until next time, Kingfisher.