On the sand flats, close to where the tide would be highest when it came all the way in, the bald eagle dined.
It was late in the afternoon along the east beach in White Rock. A small group of us watched and waited for the eagle to fly off.
But the eagle had better things to do, and so did we. None of the other birds, either the ones circling above or flitting across the sand bar, dared come close enough to the carcass to share the spoils.
And while the eagle feasted, so did we, grateful for the time it gave us to witness its unexpected splendor.