I took a walk this morning with Lilly, out along the canal. Looking out over the sparkling water between banks of snow we saw a flock of dapper ducks skimming the current, and then, rising beyond the curve of the road and the grey guardrails, the elegant, white necks of swans.
We stood and watched as they moved in and out of the places where the sunlight made the water yellow and white, arched and twisted their long necks, preened, snapped and snorted, all the while softly rustling the water.
Twenty four swans and canadian geese and green-collared mallards.
And I thought of you, floating on water, rearranging your appearance, making little sounds to tell us, "I am with you. Let us look at the world, now, in the sunlight, amidst the snow. I am in you and outside you and around and through everything, everyone, every moment. Let us look for each other in the world, in the sunlight, amidst the snow. Let us love the cold crackling noises of feet and the warmth of company and the cold fog of breath on the air. Let us live in a new world, where there are swans in January: great, paddling white birds with wings, amidst mountains of powdery snow, floating on water between the high banks where you stand."