I’ve never been much of a picture taker; I leave the task to others and hope that they occasionally capture images that are of interest to me. I have a hard enough time remembering my car keys, let alone a camera. Yes, my iPhone does take quality pictures, but the effort to retrieve it from my pocket can prove overwhelming on most days. But as Ben Franklin’s young brother Johnathon was fond of saying, “laziness is mother of all invention.”

So I find that like a blind person whose other senses are heightened by the absence of the one, my mind has invented a way to capture images and file them for later use. In other words, my lack of photographic ambition has sharpened my abilities to capture snapshots inter-cranially. True to my selfish leanings, these images are only for personal use, but that is where my much-celebrated facility with words offers some compensation to society. I can tell you what I saw. This retelling is most often more pleasurable for me than you, but I believe I’ve mentioned my selfishness.

I try to sit on the exterior bench of my clubhouse every day. Just sit. Look. Listen. The view is of the Cape Pogue salt marsh that borders the southeastern tip of North Neck. I sit here partly because this view is lovely, but also because it is there, this little shack, and it seems somewhat betrayed by its existence — as very few people ever keep it company. It virtually sighs loneliness.

There is a bird feeder a few yards from my bench — a patio-type landing accessible to all walks of flying and crawling creatures. These fauna have become accustomed to my being, possibly because of my stillness, but also due to my natural cologne of grass, wood chips and sweat. I imagine I smell most like a woodchuck, and as such pose little threat.

These birds are fun to observe. Their social hierarchy is fascinating in that it doesn’t seem to have much to do with sheer size. There’s some really bossy swallows.

But like anything that is seen in close focus, it tends to crowd out the whole picture. I see the bird, but little else. As such, my mind tends to keep its finger off its camera’s trigger. However, when the image becomes whole; complete in its composition — my brain clicks away. So it was yesterday that I sat on this perch in the waning light of day, and watched as several egrets took flight from the marsh to the sky. One by one, they waited their turn — their photo op. Sunlight on white on green. Click. Sunlight on white on blue. Click. Each shot perfectly lit. Perfectly framed. Filed away for reference when a reminder is needed of why I am here.

In other news, Rae Filley has been proudly sporting the official hat of the Royal and Ancient Chappaquiddick Links (with the be-crowned crow) during her stint as Chappy ferry deckhand. Rae mentioned that her family has taken to calling the esteemed links Rackle in honor of its initials (RACL). It occurs to me that perhaps I should replace the crow with a grackle as the mascot, and just add “Great and” to the front of the name. Seems like an opportunity that shouldn’t be missed, and the detail of the embroidery probably isn’t fine enough to betray the distinction between birds. All these thoughts in a three minute trip. I also discovered that Rae is off to Northeastern University (which I assume must be somewhere north and east of Tucson). How quickly Chappy kids grow up — seems like just yesterday I was posterizing her on her backyard basketball court.

Kevin Keady will be returning to Mytoi this Saturday evening to delight both snapping turtles and snapping fingers alike. Kevin’s brand of authentic, unpretentious storytelling through music is an art in itself. All are welcome . . . but a few Lynard Skynard 70s-style groupies wouldn’t hurt.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

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