Rare indeed

When they first announced that gallery artists were welcome to display their work at the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival, I declined. 'Didn't think I'd have anything of interest to serious bird watchers. But then the woman in charge saw some of my sunsets and oceanscapes and convinced me they were just the kind of thing she was looking for. Yes, I could do sunsets and oceanscapes, and while collecting the framed pieces and putting together a few matted ones as well, I found some pretty gorgeous stuff. Seagulls were everywhere -- in front of lighthouses, flying singly above a setting sun, swooping in to land on a beach drenched in late-afternoon sun, flapping madly in bunches in front of my favorite monolith, Haystack Rock -- bringing life to an already arresting scene.

When I say "gorgeous," and "arresting," you may think I'm bragging. Not so. I don't take a lot of credit for my photographs. I only capture what God has created. I don't tweak it in photoshop, I don't enhance the color or move items around, though I have nothing against others creating their own art in that way. But in my case I see it, I love it, I push the shutter button, I share it.

So, though I'm not so sure serious bird-watchers are all that into seagulls, I was pretty pleased with the scenes I had captured and framed to share. Here's one:


















Two days before the Festival began I thought I had everything ready to go. Then, call it the randomness of the universe or call it another gift from God, my screensaver popped up with this shot:






















I love how my screensaver rotates through my thousands of pictures before going into hybernation after I've stopped using it for a while. This is a little trick my computer-savy son showed me, which greatly facilitates remembering -- and daydreaming -- and smiling. I sit for the 10 minutes and jump from sunset in Hawaii to family reunion in Utah to crocus in yard, to Japan to state capitol to graduation -- getting whipsawed to beautiful places and random memories.


But I'd forgotten about this Snowy Egret that I'd watched spread its wings, while I patiently squinted through my lens in Florida on the very first outing I took with a digital camera. I printed it up in time for the Festival and one of the bird-lovers there exclaimed over it, pointing out what I didn't know, that it is rare to find an Egret in a tree like that.


It is also rare to have it jump to your attention when you'd forgotten about it long ago. And rare for it to happen just in time to be shared.

And rare, whether in birds or in pictures or in moments, is to be treasured.