Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The snow came roaring in on Tuesday, and with it the birds, pushing ahead of the blizzard raging behind them. Hunkered down in the cattails, we watched them flying high, fast and gone with neither glance nor quack toward my meager spread and ever-pitiful calling. A typical evening hunt for me.
So we just sat there, the dog and I, in the lee of an old beaver lodge, content to watch the undulating spectacle of migration play out across the evening sky. And, as I often do in the presence of such ancient and wondrous magic, I quickly fell into deep contemplation of all life's mysteries.
I mused and I mulled. I pondered and naval-gazed. I philosophized and proselytized, and just when I was on the verge of pulling it all together into one, all-encompassing unified-field theory of life, the universe and everything, a flight of mallards suddenly pitched into the decoys and my half-formed grand realization was gone like a forgotten dream, leaving in its wake a pair of drakes bobbing in the slushy water.
So much for figuring it all out, but a beautiful pair of greenheads on a luminous winter evening is about as good a consolation as a guy could ask for.
Posted by Chad Love at 11:20 AM