I almost fell into the trap, I had to remind myself to return to the track. I went out to the marsh, two marshes to be exact, although I passed at putting in at the first one. Today, and probably for another week or so, the marsh is what most people would call unsightly. And, that is the trap that I stepped into, because the marsh is, of course, exactly as it should be at this time of the year. The grasses have all collapsed and are covered in a thin layer of tidal silt... it's grubby... worn out. If it wasn't a marsh, one might think that it was a post-harvest farm field with little left to show for the bounty other than stubble and shreds of plants. I had to tell myself that this is what it is supposed to be. Until I turned the corner, the one where a ridge of land sticks into the marsh, where archaeologists found the remains of a Native American fishing site. I turned the corner and found some fifty glossy ibises stabbing their long curved bills into the spartina marsh searching for food. I needed no more of a reminder.
|mute swan nest|
|yellow-crowned night heron|