Even in silence, there is harmony.“The least strain of music lifts me up above all the dust and mire of the universe. I soar or hover with clean skirts over the field of my life...”“...It is ever life within life, in concentric spheres. The field wherein I toil or rust at any time is at the same time the field for such different kinds of life.”Henry David ThoreauI'm slowly finding familiarity with the music of the marsh...if not the orchestrated life it sustains. Here, predator and prey, crossing paths, sharing space, separated by time. How often do we also cross the path of another, out of sync...missed by a single beat?
Such an assortment of tunnels and tracks...what rich community life hides beneath the skirt of snow?
And above? A trio of turkey vultures...so awkward and hulking on land, they glide with silent grace in their element. One spied me...circled ever closer...coasting overhead for a curious glance.