You wake up early and step out for a walk, and you wonder what big news will shape the.  The egg shell resting on the hedge tells you life goes on, however small, and this feels like big news.  What else could it be from such a small shell?

So you give up on the solitary walk and get the dogs and your daughter, and off you go to the beach.  You start anew.

 On a summer that has been notable for the paucity of turtle nests, the discovery of this false crawl somehow offers hope.  The turtle lady tells you that mama came ashore and dragged herself along without a front right flipper to lay her eggs, but she turned back to the ocean without having completed her task.  This is the third time she has made the attempt.  She takes photos and makes a call because the turtle people are looking out for this turtle.  There's hope.  This kind of caring takes the edge off of the paucity of nests....

 Back at the shack, Adella photographs the pelicans--your favorite bird--and you give it a go, too.  You want to be that bird.  Who wouldn't want to ride the thermals, skate the waves, weave in and out of groups of flying birds, living with a permanent grin.  You and the turtles; you've got this.  Yes.
You go home after a while, and you stop for the white heron who turns just so, and you can't see him anymore.  He has mastered the art of being paperthin.  Good on ya, bird.


Back at the ranch, though, there's this little dude to tolerate your camera.  Maybe he's happy you opened this bush to more light.  Maybe he just plain knows you'll be on your way.  You've been here before.  You're harmless, even if you never know when to look away.

But when you'll do, you'll see what Adella sees:


Our World Tuesday