Emily’s Hero’s Journey

Cruciate Surgery Set for July 1

This morning, I noted sadly, Mother Merganser no longer has thirteen young ones following her about the pond. Now, there are eleven. There was no sign of mourning as the group paddled placidly above their reflections through the rising mists of dawn.

The four Canada geese remain in their favored end of the pond. They floated and were stationary in the wash of early light. Meanwhile, Mr. Beaver swam, nose up, like the prow of a ship, between both parties. Beavers are as much of a surprise as icebergs. A tiny portion above the water, sixty pounds submerged. There is such grace in Mr. B’s movements, and in all these residents of the pond.

I wonder, though, do they note the mountains in the background? Did Mother Merganser cry out at the loss of her two? Why are these four Canada geese quieter than any I’ve encountered? Where do the otters, who reveal themselves in winter, summer? It’s as if they split a timeshare with the beavers.

These and other thoughts are part of my morning prayers, …