Dark green conifers in the distance look a bit out of place in this stark view from the old lookout platform. What you see in this photo is quite different from what I see when I look at this scene in person. The distance compression of the lens pulls everything closer together, making the expanse of water and weeds in front of that forest look much smaller than it is.

Although my primary goal when hiking in the parks with my camera is to capture interesting landscape compositions, whenever I get an opportunity to photograph wildlife I do it. I’ve captured the occasional shot of a squirrel, dozens of shots of different types of birds, and, much rarer, I have gotten a photograph of a deer. Most of the parks where I hike either have no deer or they are quite scarce. Lake Conestee Nature Preserve, on the other hand, has quite a number of deer. The only problem is that they are skittish, and I usually only see them, either far away, or after they’ve seen me and are bolting through the forest to get away from me.

Today’s photo tells a story. But the story it tells is far broader than a pair of nesting herons fending off another heron who is interested in the location of their nest. What you cannot see in the photo is the air battle between two males, complete with pterodactyl-like sounds, that occurred shortly after I took this photograph. And what you also can’t see in this photo is the reason behind intruding heron’s boldness.

I have stood many times at this very spot; boots on wooden slats, jeans pressed against wood railing, eyes searching, mind whirling with thoughts, both feasible and fanciful. I felt time slow to a halt. I saw seasons change: the earthy colors of fall, the lifeless grays and browns of winter, the yellow-green liveliness of spring, and the bright green foliage of summer.

It may not be magical, but it can feel that way.