It had been 10 months since I'd been to Durante Park, a 32-acre coastal wetlands system, which has a boardwalk that skirts Sarasota Bay. Last winter, it became my home away from our Florida rental where, in the park's backwaters, I saw cormorants, little blue herons, kingfishers, wood storks, that I believe nested here (who are on the federal and state endangered lists) and two transient roseate spoonbills which I briefly saw one morning.

This morning at the boardwalk I catch a glimpse of a barely-above-the water sandbar in the bay and lean over a mangrove branch for a better view. There are about two dozen brown pelicans, maybe one hundred and 135 laughing gulls and on another nearby sandbar, 16 white pelicans all waiting quietly. These huge birds are over 5-feet tall, weigh approximately fifteen-and-a-half pounds, have black wing tips, partially black wing bottoms and enormous orange bills. They start to flap their wings, whose span is 9-feet. I can hear the noise from the flailing, faintly but distinctly. Last year I had to drive nearly an hour, not walk two miles as I did to get here, to see these eye-catching winter visitors.

Five more white pelicans circle slowly over the sandbar and land, joining the rest. The sheer size and stark color contrast of these birds makes it appear as if they have descended from the heavens. Suddenly there is a mass migration of the laughing gulls from their sandbar and soon a dozen of the white pelicans are swimming. As the pelicans move, they disappear behind some mangroves and I have to go to another part of the boardwalk for a view of them. Parallel to one another, they are plunging their huge bills into the water in the almost synchronized movement like the pistons of an automobile engine. White pelicans are cooperative feeders and are in a very tight group at the moment, suggesting that the pelicans may be "herding" fish.

Leaving the park I see a very young, fuzz ball of a kestrel in a tree. Looking at the black and white markings and the rust color I try to imagine what this young raptor will look like as it matures. It appears as if this young bird will beat nature's odds and not become prey. During my next few visits I see many kinds of birds, some spectacular butterflies called common buckeyes and an anole, a small lizard, which literally poses for me while I photograph it. But something niggled at me; this just wasn't the same place. I wasn't seeing the large fish-eating birds, particularly the great egrets that I almost always saw last winter.

About three weeks after my first visit, I am again at the spot on the boardwalk where I saw the white pelicans. To my surprise there are seven white pelicans in the bay. So the white pelicans aren't a one-shot deal here. They are too far out to see well and for the next 40 minutes I am preoccupied with 200 duck-like swimmers that are primarily in silhouette. With elegant black heads and small, slightly curved bills against the backdrop of the bay's choppy waters, they are a compelling parade. The day is cold and gray and the wind off Sarasota Bay makes it feel like I'm sitting in front of open refrigerator with a fan blowing on me. I don't mean to stay that long but I can't identify the birds, which is driving me crazy. After a while another birder comes and suggests that they may be grebes. Not satisfied with just the designation grebe I look for the dozenth time at my field guide. The eared grebe seems to be my best bet and I write it down.

On the way out of the park, I have an unexpected look at a little blue heron which is perching in a tree below a footbridge. It is the longest and very best view I've ever had of this bird. Much to my surprise, on the other side of the bridge is a reddish egret, which is Florida's least common heron. I get to watch its "loopy "dance as it chases after fish in the shallow water which I'd never before witnessed. On the way out, I get the best look I ever had at a tricolored heron. I study its gray, yellow and washed out plum colors, pore over its oversized bill and huge, light green feet which are somewhat blurry in the water. If the bird hadn't flown I'd probably still be there.

I am emotionally wiped out. Passing the tree where the young kestrel was the first time, I realize that I'm looking to see how the bird is evolving even though I know it's not there. That's when I understand that Durante, an ecosystem, is always evolving and that what I saw last winter, although still vivid in my mind's eye, may not be there this winter. The park that I felt just wasn't the same, wasn't, nor should I have thought it would be. Today, in a different way it was as good or better than it ever was. Based on what I've seen this morning, I'm in for a lot of interesting tomorrows as long as I don't judge them by yesterday.