She flipped to a fresh page in her book and gripped her pencil.“Not usually.Though females are about a third larger than males.But this one is too far away to tell.”
I handed her back the binoculars, and she started what I liked to call her standard “gawk and sketch.”I knew better than to ask anymore questions while she sketched.I’d scared enough birds away over the years, and suffered Mabel’s wrath, that it was better to just write down my questions—if they were important enough—and ask them later.
So I stayed quiet and just observed my child and soaked up the pure joy she was experiencing seeing and sketching a bird she’d been sure she’d never get to see.
The breeze off the water was chilly, and I shivered, but Mabel didn’t feel cold the way I did, and would probably wear less layers if I allowed it.
“I’m a winter baby, I thrive in the cold,” she liked to say.
That didn’t fly with me, but I did pick my battles.And asking her to put on a jacket becauseIwas cold was not a battle that I would win, or one I felt inclined to even entertain.
We stood there for a solid twenty minutes, observing the statuesque bird as it observed us in return.Mabel was just finishing up on the wings when the feathered phantom let out a chillinghoot, then swooped down from its branch and into the forest.
“Must have spotted a mouse or something,” my kid muttered, scanning the trees a moment longer with her binoculars before dropping them and closing her notebook.
She beamed at me, and my heart swelled.
“Thanks, Dad.”Then she shocked the shit out of me and wrapped her spindly little arms around me in a hug.It wasn’t a long hug because my kid wasn’t big on touching or affection, but it was a hug.A hug that meant as much to her as it did to me.
I wished to hang on to her a little longer, but took her cue and let go when she did, stepping back and smiling.“Your old man is just lucky sometimes.”
She snorted.“You’re notthatold.”
“Old enough to be your dad,” I said, grabbing the whiskey glass from the ground and following her into the house.I closed the French doors behind us.
“Barely,” she replied before yawning.“I wonder if these woods are the owl’s territory and we’ll see it again.I hope so.”
“I’m sure there are all kinds of interesting birds in the woods and along the shores just waiting for their fifteen minutes of fame where you sketch them.”
She served me a cheeky eye roll, but then a half-smile.“Birds don’t care about that stuff.”
“Maybe not, but you do, and that’s what matters to me.”
She yawned again.
“Bedtime now, Mabes.You’ve got big kid school in the morning.”
She ignored my retaliatory cheekiness and simply nodded.
I followed her down the hall to her room and hung out in the doorjamb as she climbed into bed.“Thanks again, Dad.”
“Anytime, kiddo.I love you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m assuming you love me too?”
“You know I do.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
She snuggled down into the covers and reached over to turn off her reading light.“Well don’t.”
“Goodnight, Mabes.”
“Night.”
Then I closed her bedroom door and headed to the bathroom to have a shower.
