Waiting Time

S and I walk down to south lagoon on a cloudy and windy day.

To look at it one would think that it is a cold one, but it is not, and a sweat is breaking under a bit too much shirt for the weather.  

The water is low, and it seems as low as it ever gets during the winter, when the dam guys bring it all the way down.  I must admit that while I do understand the need for extra water in the summer, I do not understand their timing.  We go through the east channel of the burial island, noting which beaver scent mounds have been freshly splashed, and then down the big dead end.  A trail of bubbles runs ahead of us and the new resident muskrat surfaces once before moving off.  There is a new muskrat lodge in here, a conical pile of cattails and other plants built up on a bit of bog stuff.  It's a bit of a mess, but it's a house and it's the only muskrat house that I've seen, although I do see muskrats every so often.

We are in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything, so we stop here and there and just look at what is around us.  Then we cross the bay to the NE lagoon.  And we sit there for awhile and look at what is around us.  Then we come out and crab our way along the north shore, a moderate south wind always trying to push us sideways.  Near the north point we inspect what appears to be one of the temporary islands that rise up in winter - dense peat layers buoyed by trapped swamp gas.  But, this is a raft of bog stuff some 8 x 15 feet.  When we get close we can see that it undulates with the waves.

It is near the end of a very brief summer and not much is happening.  This year's brood of ducks is mostly able to fly, except for the latest of hatchings.  This year's geese are flying well and can not be easily recognized from their elders.  Otherwise, it is a time of waiting - waiting for the return of birds from the north.