There are Blackbirds in the Rice

We set out into a head wind, following the shore or the edge of the marsh islands closely as to shelter us as much as possible from the wind.  Fall is coming.  The day is sunny and cool with short mare's tails high aloft in the sky. 

S paddles from the bow and once or twice uses a draw stroke to pull the nose back into the wind.  At the big open bay, a shallow exposed circle of open water, we count twenty swans.  Swans are once again gathering for the winter.  These may end up in the big flock that winters in Salmon Cove.  Migrating osprey are fishing, taking advantage as they work their way south.

Past the open water, we enter the narrow channels of Lord Cove, flushing here or there, a duck or two.  S sees a white spot in a distant dead tree.  I tell her it is a great egret.  She says that it might be just a white patch of wood.  I respond by telling her that there is always a great egret in that tree. 

It is a great egret.

We circle through the channels.  Unlike most marshes, most of the channels in this one are not dead ends.

There are blackbirds in the rice.

It is a leisurely paddle.  It is a much more leisurely paddle for one of us.