When going out to the barn this morning, I heard the rush of moving wings overhead and looked up to see a great blue heron winging toward Silver Lake, his long bony legs trailing like a rudder. The flight was along the northwest route taken by the loons all summer as they cross from Dublin Lake to Silver. The loons usually wing by early in the morning or in the evening and it is always startling to hear their eerie, mournful call. The great blues are silent, unless disturbed, when they let out a terrible squawk, enough to wake one out of a sound sleep. This morning’s passage was silent, majestic, except for the sound of the wings, which stretch as wide as I am high. I just happened to be out there at that early hour and I looked up at the right moment. He was flying low enough to be heard, such an intimate experience.
Later in the day, the temperature climbed to 80 degrees, records shattering across the state. Windows that had been closed and locked since October were unlatched and thrown open. Welcome, fragrant air moved. I’m expecting that tonight, there will be peepers. And a waning moon that will be shaped, oddly, just like an egg. Happy Easter to all.