When your side profile is your best angle.

I turned a corner and there it was—a Plumed Whistling Duck standing with an air of quiet dignity. Its feathers seemed painted by a patient hand, each stroke deliberate in its blend of browns and creams. The yellow eye caught the light briefly as it tilted its head, as if considering some weighty decision. The foliage blurred behind it like an impressionist painting, framing the bird in a way that felt almost too perfect. I lingered there, marveling at how something so ordinary could hold such quiet beauty.