Even While We Whisper

We had a view of the Chesapeake Bay for a whole weekend.
Sitting on the dock, you experience the weather moving over the Bay like you would feel the weather over an Oklahoma wheat field. Rain in the distance rolls in as an advancing fog. The wind pushes the water towards the land. Like horses running for the stables, the sailboats drop sail and briskly motor on home.

An expanse of water and land reward the keen eye with abounding treasures. A fluttering speck on the horizon, just at treeline, flies near to become a whistling Osprey carrying a fresh catch tight in his talons.
The still water bursts into a boil in the distance as a thrashing school of menhaden escape the current and swirl ahead of a gang of hungry striped bass. If you're paying attention, now is the time to cast your line and take advantage of the marine madness. The old slate heron watches from the shadows, slowly nodding approval.

The sun, moon, and sky preen in virtuous vanity above the reflective bay. We gather on the shore to admire their beauty. Even while we whisper our respects, our awe carries to the far shore. Our presence becomes part of the scene. May the Bay, in its benevolent way, forever stay.