Oh, Kingfisher. I didn't have the lens with me, nor likely the skill or timing to record your gift. The way you flew above the cove and suspended yourself in midair 50 feet above the water and hung there like an oversized hummingbird at a feeder. Wings flapping madly, ironically, to sustain your silent position in space as your head and beak point down to the water, to your target, from the vertical frame of your torso. Then the sudden lightning bolt dive into the water. There's no other word for it. A strike. And you are completely submerged. You disappear. Your entry sends out concentric circles along the cove surface and then you rise out of it. Oh, to really be able to see that moment ...a bird thrusting itself upward out of the water. You fly wings beating fast again to the shore. To a branch above the edge. Beyond where I can see. Oh, Kingfisher.