I had been watching the activities of the ducks in the pond for some time, camera at the ready, when the egret came flying through.

It’s as if one is trying not to look up under a young lady’s skirt-shades of Marilyn standing above the street vent-exposed yet graceful, embarrassed yet intrigued, innocence but not, in white. Note the mirror image reflections, the white head superimposed on the brown body, the soft ripples in the water, and the continuous line starting at the top of the rear duck’s backside, over the tufted bit of its feathered tail through the back of the white egret and finally curving downward through its skinny yellow legs and upturned feet.