I've just returned from a four and a half mile beach walk on Longboat Key, which is an extended narrow strip of land, nestled between the Gulf of Mexico and Sarasota Bay. I walked on firm sand with crunched shells underfoot, beneath a cool cloudy sky. Along the way at the water's edge were numerous shore birds, which I occasionally stopped to watch. Beach mornings, like this one, and I were made for each other.

My morning walk started with the sun rising over tall trees in a pale blue sky with sweeping pebbly clouds. At low tide the Gulf of Mexico had long lines of gentle incoming waves. Some terns flying over the water added to the rhythmical quality of the day. At the water's edge were gulls and terns almost all of which I could identify after nearly two weeks, which was gratifying. When my wife and I got here nearly two weeks ago, having shed our winter coats, I hadn't realized that many beach birds would have donned theirs, making them very hard to recognize. Shorebirds, in their winter plumage, often lose their colorful reds and blacks and become dull and non-distinctive. In a group of 35 birds, which will later swell to some 115, there are some laughing gulls which have lost their black caps and their bright red bills are now black. The ring-billed gulls are easy to identify because they still have the black ring at the tip of their otherwise yellow bills. The royal terns have their yellow/orange dagger-like bills and stylish black crests at the back of their heads. There is a very small tern whose colors I take careful note of and later, with a field guide, identify it as a least tern.

Brown pelicans are attention getters with their large bodies and overly long, exclamation point-like bills. One bends back its black and white wings, appearing menacing as it begins its dive into the ocean. At the last second the pelican pulls its wings taut against its body and plunges bullet-like, bill first into the water. Seconds later the big bird sits on the water's surface extending the huge pouch under its lower mandible as it swallows. Did it get a fish? Only the fish knows for sure.

My breakfast, which I carry to a beach chair in a plastic bag, consists of bread, salad, fruit and milk. An osprey, which I have been observing for the last few days in a nearby tree, will be my breakfast companion. We're on good terms; it's used to me by now. The raptor, a fish eater, presently has no catch on which to chew. I sink into a chair with the morning's mood starting to seep into me. The bird soon gives a series of seven or eight calls with a double note mixed in. The raptor does this again and I wonder if it is getting ready to fish for its breakfast. The fish hawk takes no notice of my presence, however a single ring-billed gull has come close to my chair. We both eye each other and I realize that even though I've finished eating, the gull may have its hopes set on any remains. I never ever feed wild birds but this guy makes me feel guilty. Finding the tiniest bit of lettuce I toss it to the ring-bill. This is no favor because almost instantly eight or nine laughing gulls are right there and the lone bird has to fight one off. The laughing gulls, in no jovial mood, are all looking intently at me. I had barely taken notice of them; they however were obviously keenly aware of my presence. I'm taken aback by their intensity but they soon leave.

After a while I look up to see that the osprey has gone. A little blue heron that is not little at 24 inches and is really shades of gray and blue, has come onto the beach. I have almost never seen one without someone else pointing it out first. I want to get to know if this heron is as skittish as others typically are. Getting up to look at it my eye falls on a dark form perched on a distant tree. It's a raptor but is too small to be the osprey. Now I'm excited, there's action. I go back to our apartment for my birding telescope but upon returning to the beach the little blue and the hawk are gone. However one hasn't gone far.

The hawk has moved a hundred feet or so down the beach to another tree. It is an immature red-shouldered hawk and I'm elated, as this is the first time I've identified this particular hawk. The raptor, however, will not tolerate my presence even though I'm further from it than I was from the osprey. The red-shouldered hawk moves again. This time, when I follow it, the bird flies off the tree, making a wide circle and is heading my way! In back of me are a large number of gulls at the water's edge. They scatter as if the fast approaching hawk is threatening their lives. The red-shoulder however is not interested in a meal; it simply wants to flee a persistent human. Disappearing between two beach houses, the bird leaves us all behind. I look back at where it was and now there is a rust-chested hawk there. This one is a mature red-shouldered hawk; perhaps a parent come to look for an errant child. No matter, it too flies and the mood of an extended morning is now over. The mood, however will linger for the rest of the day. This has been the kind of morning a snowbird comes to Florida to experience and savor.