The loon came back. Alone. He always does.
Winter's ice is only barely off the lake, and yet we spotted him this afternoon - a solitary, regal bird with a tall neck and stately presence. He swam in front of our house, a relaxed and peaceful pass-in-review along the lakeshore.
Twice a year his royal highness shows up here to take a break while traveling migratory paths.
I can’t help but wonder what makes him tick: how he knows where he's going, and if he ever gets lonely.
I wonder if he knows things I don’t (of course he does), and if he wonders what
I know (probably not).
This evening I wonder exactly where he will spend the night
- most likely bedded down in dry cattails on the other side of our lake - and
if his haunting call will be beyond the scope of my hearing aids tomorrow. I
wonder how long he will stay here before heading north. I wonder where he will spend the summer, and
if he will mate and raise a family.
Even as I wonder, I don’t expect answers to my
questions. The loon is beyond my grasp. A mysterious guest for a brief time, I can respect
and study him, and yet his way is one I will never fully know, let alone understand.
He follows as he is led, and trusts innate guidance. We call
this instinct. Exemplary, implicit submission to his Maker.
No comments:
Post a Comment