Dinner is served—just takes a little fishing first.

The light shifted as the sun dipped lower, casting the water in hues of gold and bronze. The spoonbill’s pale feathers seemed to glow faintly against this backdrop, an ivory silhouette moving through liquid metal. Each step it took was deliberate yet unhurried, as though time itself had slowed to accommodate its rhythm. I stood at the edge of the scene, feeling like an intruder in a moment too serene for human interference. The occasional splash of its bill breaking the surface was the only sound beyond the muted hum of distant waves. It was a tableau that demanded nothing from me but quiet appreciation—a rare gift in a world so often loud and demanding.