February 3: Loon in the harbor
Kristen Lindquist
During a work-related lunch at the Waterfront this afternoon, I kept getting distracted by gulls flying over the harbor in view of the windows: Was I mistaken, or did that one seem to have all-white wings? (Yes, I was mistaken.) Is it too early to see a laughing gull? (Yes.) Is that just a large, immature gull in the distance or an eagle? (Gull.) It made me realize how much I'm itching to get out and tromp around on this icy snow crust and look for some birds, something I haven't done enough of this winter--with the exception of our vacation in Florida (which thankfully did not involve icy snow crust).
As our conversation wound to a close and the food disappeared, I was inordinately pleased to notice a loon drifting around among the empty floats in the harbor. It wasn't an unusual loon, just a big fat common loon with a white throat, hanging out, diving now and then. I pointed it out to my dining companion. Soon, I imagined, that loon, sporting spiffy new breeding plumage, will be perfectly poised to head a few miles inland and stake out a perfect territory on the lake.
Winter mind, barren,
latches onto these few birds,
making more of them.
As our conversation wound to a close and the food disappeared, I was inordinately pleased to notice a loon drifting around among the empty floats in the harbor. It wasn't an unusual loon, just a big fat common loon with a white throat, hanging out, diving now and then. I pointed it out to my dining companion. Soon, I imagined, that loon, sporting spiffy new breeding plumage, will be perfectly poised to head a few miles inland and stake out a perfect territory on the lake.
Winter mind, barren,
latches onto these few birds,
making more of them.