A Spear, a Bee and a Mara

I still don’t quite understand how these grasses don’t catch fire. They sit there almost touching the sun, glowing around the edges as if they’re already halfway there. Somehow they survive the morning — and look ridiculously good doing it.

While everyone else was enjoying the morning, this little bee was already hard at work — hovering from flower to flower and collecting nectar like there was a deadline. The backlight made the wings glow almost transparent, which turned a very ordinary bit of bee business into one of my favourite little moments of the morning.

No idea what offended this goose so early in the morning, but apparently it had a lot to say about it. Wings out, chest forward, full complaint mode — the kind of performance that makes you feel there must be a very serious story behind it.

The Grey Heron has this strange kind of deadly elegance. It can stand absolutely motionless, almost sculptural, and then in a fraction of a second that long neck turns into a spring and the bill into a spear. There’s something slightly chilling about how precise it is — no panic, no wasted movement, just one clean strike and the water closes again.

With barely any wind, the water turned into a giant mirror — perfect for playing with reflections and symmetry. Trees, sky and shoreline suddenly had doubles, and a few ordinary views became something much more graphic. For a while, it was hard to tell where the landscape ended and the reflection began.

A few portraits of the local residents — some expected, some definitely not. A heron keeping watch, one of the lake cats making its rounds, and a Patagonian mara looking slightly as if it had wandered in from another continent. Which, to be fair, it pretty much has.

Nikon Z9 · NIKKOR Z 180–600mm f/5.6–6.3 VR

Nikon Z5 · NIKKOR Z 24–120mm f/4 S