There's nothing like doubling your Folly Cove spring, especially with palm trees and sand.
Pelicans sail complacently over the South Carolina surf. This one surmounts the local wit.
Conversely, their brethren of the air never seem satisfied. Seagulls cannot get enough of human wit.
Kay Ray enjoys a sanctuary from seagulls. She has expanded her lifelong impression of seagull intelligence upon discovering that they can respect the written word.
The cook at Rita's absolutely raises the bar for the world's best fried shrimp.
When we return North our own Folly Cove sends up a greeter. We smile but don't wade into the water.
At our home beach the kingfisher keeps watchful order. He emits an occasional scolding.
Out in the Cove a loon returns the kingfisher's stare.
Around us brant graze pastorally in the kingfisher realm.
Mergansers court obliviously offshore.
An odd-drake-out persists with self-commendations.
The champion settles the match discreetly behind a wave.
The victor celebrates with Churchillian wings.
Her ladyship acknowledges his valor with a slight dip of her bill.
The partners announce their betrothal in grand gestures.
'Himself' crows a bit exuberantly.
The vanquished vanishes.
The couple promenades by an appreciative brant.
A second hen arrives deus ex machina to fulfill The Promise. The vanquished one redirects his affections after a lingering glance. The big ocean embraces all its beloveds.
Snow geese cross the Ipswich Bay above waves that resolve a migration of ocean energies onto Folly Point.
A surf scoter searches below for crustaceans.
Folly Cove re-gathers all of us to its vital Spring.