Into the Beaver Forest

I stop to write at the big lodge at the edge of the beaver forest, which lies within the east marsh. A belted kingfisher is nearby and an Allen's hummingbird streaks past. Forty-some geese are back near the point. Most of them are goslings, some with adult colors, but with wings that aren't ready to fly, yet.

Once before, I paddled well into the beaver forest. Other times I have been stopped by the tangle of chewed trees. I have twice tried to bring others here, but the way in has always been blocked. Today, I am allowed to enter, the route being surprisingly easy with no more than some ducking involved. There seems no science to this, the lake being just as high as it has been lately. Maybe the beaver forest is as it always is, and I am different.

Inside, I catch a few glimpses of wood ducks in the shadows...in the distance...they are phantoms deciding when and when not to be visible. A green backed heron comes my way for a landing and is startled to find me, veering away at the last moment. This spot is so good for the soul. I try to remember all of it for later and tears come to my eyes.