We were standing by a beaver pond on the Two Hundred Acre Wood, and the two floating tumps way off in the distance looked like melting ice in the low light, but something about the two snowy white shapes didn’t seem right. When one fluffy tump turned right side up and looked over at us with a lustrous gimlet eye, we were delighted.
Holarctic swans occasionally put in an appearance in our part of the world when migrating, but it doesn’t happen often, and we had never seen them ourselves. The yellow eye lores (or patches) at the base of their bills were not visible in twilight, but our beautiful birds were “whistlers”, and not members of the smaller Bewick’s Swan tribe. The interval by the pond was definitely what I like to call a “hallelujah moment”.
Sometimes a word plays hide-and-seek in my mind. It’s there somewhere holding all the feelings that can only be released into that one word. Ofttimes it’s a verb darting, taunting, refusing to be caught, and I give chase. But this word I know to be a noun, sitting heavily on my chest with the weight of it hurting every breath.
Then I caught a glimpse of the word in the thicket. It was both inviting and foreboding. But the fencing held me back. I knew I could not chase it down. I could only wait until it was ready to reveal itself. Patience. Some words are not meant to be come easily. They have to work their way through the brambles of your life.