Water Under the Bridge

It was a chilly day at Dalhousie Lake, and the water under the old Geddes bridge was only a few degrees above freezing. As I stood under the bridge (and out of the wind), I found myself thinking about early morning visits there in the summer - I remembered the loons who nested on the lake and flew south in early October, the great blue heron who fished in the reeds at sunrise, the young otter who climbed onto one of these rocks and grinned up at me, displaying an amiable nature, avid curiosity and very sharp teeth. I remembered the vulture who perched on a fence one morning and spread his wings to dry in the sun, a flock of mergansers practicing takeoffs and landings in the bay.

If I listen carefully, I can hear the loons calling across the lake to each other on a summer morning not so long ago. In winter, such memories are nurturing and sustaining things.