We have a pair of
cardinals nesting in our yard each year. I suspect that the pair we have this
year remembers us from last year since they ignore the dogs, barely avoid the
squirrels, and linger within sight when I stretch out comfortably in a lounge
chair.
The male teased me
mercilessly last night. I saw his brilliant crimson against the green lawn as
he cocked his head this way and that. Determined to finally capture him on
film, I grabbed my camera and quietly slid outside. I tried to sit off to the
side, but soon realized that he kept a distance too far for my camera’s reach.
Slowly, I crept under the Live Oak, stopping under the arch our bushes create
next to the fish pond.
I know, without a
doubt, that the cardinal spied me. He flitted flirtatiously from branch to
branch, following a pattern of perch, hop, perch, hop, swoop, perch and hop. He
circled around me in a predictable display of cockiness. He’d linger along the
rooftop, grace the back of one of the wrought iron chairs, and play hide-n-seek
among the leaves. His head peeked around leaves and small branches as he
challenged me to capture his arrogant pose.
Always just a little
behind a branch. Always just a little too fast for my shutter. Always just a
tease away from the perfect pose.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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