This empty blind in the flooded corn stubble is one you'd expect to see on just about any of the California Delta islands that still flood their corn and wheat ground during the fall and winter. As I drove by it on the levee road, the few dozen plastic decoys laid out in front of it caught my eye. I was hoping they were real ducks, but knew as quickly as I saw them that they weren't. Still, they were nice to look at.

I stopped my truck to enjoy the view. As I did, my mind wandered back to the good ol' days, when I was a kid growing up in the Delta.

My reflections came to a screeching halt when I saw this small flock of sprig circling the pond. I could feel the adrenaline rush as I grabbed for my camera, focused on the birds, and fired off a couple of shots just as they were sailing over the empty blind. Isn't it interesting how ducks always seem to know when a blind is empty and it is safe to fly low over?

As the sprig flew off, I reflected on the few times I was able to hunt with my dad - quiet times with few words shared - yet times I knew were inwardly cherished by both of us. I wish we could have found the words to say what we were both feeling then but didn't know how to express to each other. I know I could find those words today, but my dad has long since passed away.

As I sat alone amidst the quietness of this flooded Delta cornfield, continuing to reflect of the empty blind before me, I was filled with awe by the late afternoon splendor taking place in the Western sky and the scope of nature's beauty before me. I gave thanks for this special waterfowl moment I felt blessed to be experiencing.

It was time for me to go. As I got back in my truck and felt warm, happy tears sliding down my cheeks, I realized that this blind was not really empty as I had first thought it was.