This morning the rain was falling in a constant but gentle persistent fashion. It wasn’t the easiest walk to begin, but I layered up and topped with a water resistant jacket and headed out with determination. I have learned that walking with a camera is not a fitness walk and that a fitness walk as it is already challenged by my desire to sit and observe at a few stops along the way. As soon as possible I stepped off the roadway and began a walk to the shoreline. I stepped over the do not trespass sign at the track and found my way down to the misty lake. A heron was standing in the shallow shorewater, an autumn veil behind him. I crawled up into the low branch of a cottonwood to sit in the shelter of the leaves and watch as the heron spread his wings and did a slow looping curve skimming the surface of the lake. The water itself was the beautiful mix of lavender blue mixed with strips of soft lichen green, shallow enough to see the rocks and weeds with thousands of shimmering minnows. The rain drops made a symphony of the quietest version of piano keys, echoing into larger circles until they met resistance of another echo and as the rain built in intensity the drops bounced from the surface like small jewels. The kingfisher landed briefly on the jagged remains of a pier post before lifting to survey his fishing options and diving to resurface fish in mouth. Along the path the branches of the bramble held drops collecting the quiet light and while I ached to have my camera I realize, I still hold the image.