As I mentioned in another post, Monday there was ice on the small ponds that a week before had been full of migrating ducks. The ducks were all gone, it seemed. As I was passing the beaver lodge, however, I notice a small bit of bright orange on a log across the beaver pond. I looked through my telephoto lens and realized that what I had seen were the feet of a female duck, perched on the log that jutted out into the water. She was so well camouflaged that I almost missed see her. When I moved to one side, I noticed a second duck, a male, right behind them. They were huddled together, with their heads tucked in between their wings, resting and sharing their body warmth on a cold morning. Why were they alone? Had they become separated from a larger group? Were they on their way to another destination?
There was something very tender, almost intimate about this scene, about the closeness of this duck couple. The environment might be hostile and threatening, but they could face it together—at least they had each other.
Facing the world together
© Michael Q. Powell. All rights reserved.
Mike Powell 
Nice story. I often wonder if I miss a lot of wildlife because of their camouflage.
What a conundrum you’ve raised. Do I not see what’s there because it’s so well hidden or do I not see what’s not there because it’s not there?
And the frustrating part is that no matter how hard you look, you will never know …