Wearing sandals that are good for walking but not so good for climbing, I make my way carefully down a steep dirt and gravel slope. Carefully because a mis-step could see me slip-sliding down that slope and into and, maybe, over all that lies between me and the Straits of Florida: a shin-high concrete barrier. One hand is fully occupied hanging onto my camera.
That’s when an unexpected rustle comes from my left, and my peripheral vision sees motion, but not what’s causing it. A snake? Some other woman-wearing-sandals-eating wildlife? My heart rate ratchets up a tad.
I stop cold and turn my head slowly so as not to provoke an avalanche or the unknown animal.
My short-term survival reasonably assured, my inner photographer takes over.