There is a two mile walk up the road I live on that I like to do for exercise and meditation. The road through the hollow follows the our creek half a mile up to a one lane bridge that was rebuilt more than a year after Hurricane Irene destroyed it. The next half mile is a one lane dirt road up a steep spring fed small rushing creek, a tributary to our creek. Up and back is a peaceful two mile serene walk full of natural wonders if ones is quiet enough in mind and spirit to notice them. Down the road there is an open meadow between a house and the water, and a wide flat wooded island at a bend of the creek’s flow. This is where the king fishers hang out when they come back in the spring. A medium sized bird with blue grey wings, a white chest and a black necklace, they have a distinctive flight pattern, and a unique call, a chittering chirping that rings out across the hollow and can be heard over the sound of the rushing water. As I walked down the road toward home, one took flight from the bare branches above me gliding over to the next tree down the road, call ringing out in the sunlight. I tracked his flight, watched him perch, and wait until I was too close. Once again he take off chittering and gliding to the next tree down the road. This slow motion chase replayed five or six times before he deviated course by flying out over the field closer to the water, and upstream toward where we had come from. There he was joined by another king fisher, they danced around each other in the air before flying separate ways, still chittering. Is that a territory thing? I hear them calling as I continue down the road.