The past three days have been drizzly, but that’s given me some very satisfying time for reading and writing.
Today I awoke to the sound of an early morning rain drumming gently on the roof. I chose to blot out any worries about how much of the drizzle was seeping under the shingles in the back room of the camp. Soon the rain stopped and I lay there listening to the otherworldly call of loons out on the water. The dogs were stirring. It was time to get up before my cozy reverie was interrupted by a cold wet canine nose on my cheek.
The moment the dogs and I stepped out the door, we were greeted by the chattering of a squirrel, warning his confrères that those crazed beasts were on the loose. Ceilidh and Chieftain made a mad dash to the top of the hill in pursuit of whatever varmints were in their path.
As we headed down to the beach I could hear a chorus of soft, throaty chirrups – a seductive sound that drew me closer. As we neared the water’s edge, I saw a flock of mergansers bobbing in the ripples. They were chatting among themselves, perhaps discussing the best place to dine. Ceilidh and I stood watching them as they swam along the shoreline. Suddenly, they all seemed to be seized by the same urge. They appeared to be running near the surface of the water, their little webbed feet flapping rapidly. The sight reminded me of the old roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons. I’m going to hang around the beach for a while to try to get a video clip of them in action. That’s my goal for today. I think it’s a lofty one.