The swan flew in on a wet Monday morning; I didn’t notice her until midday when her great white form floated into view as I was clearing dishes from the sink. Her mate was nowhere to be found. She spent the rest of that Monday in the water, taking turns cleaning her undercoat and sleeping, her wide thick neck curved into her wing. It seemed so unnatural to me, the geometry of it, but it was clear she wanted to hide her face from the world, in the isolation of the lake.
The herons avoided the lake that day, maybe in respect. The last time the swans showed up, both of them, the heron was also there, squawking at the intruders. Back then, at the end of spring, she stood her ground on the rocks, cleaning herself meticulously, while her partner assessed the lake, taking test flights from various corners. When they departed, that first time, she left behind a scattering of fine white feathers all over the water. I thought they would stay that first time too, but it was clear they had used the lake as a stopover on their way to richer waters. Maybe where they wouldn’t have a grey heron bothering them.
This time, it was just her, and it was clear, to me at least, that something had changed. She just kept floating and floating, occasionally looking around, but mostly just sleeping. She was tired, it seemed to me, the way you are after a long journey, physical or otherwise. I didn’t see her come up to land at all; maybe she didn’t think it was safe.
I walked around the lake in the afternoon to have a closer look. I didn’t want to bother her so as I passed her by, I looked away so she wouldn’t think of me as a threat. I could only see her from the corner of my eye, her mascara-ed eye observing me. She swam alongside me for a bit, and then I walked back to the house. The next morning, she was gone.
Maybe she was looking for temporary shelter, the way you need to gather up your strength before continuing along on your journey. Maybe she determined the lake wasn’t going to do. Maybe she lost her partner and was a little lost. Maybe she lost her partner and was broken from it. Maybe she was just tired. Whatever it was, I hope the lake brought her comfort even for just a day. I hope she doesn’t regret her little layover. I hope she knows she can always come back here if she needs to; we mostly leave the lake alone because it doesn’t need humans, it’s so full of other life already. But maybe she did need a quiet place, unbothered by the ducks and the otter and the family of herons.
I know what it’s like, too, to be sad and alone and just want to aimlessly float with no clear direction, just see where the current takes me. She’s somewhere out there, maybe in the wetlands behind the farm, maybe farther afield, waiting for sunshine. It’s the least I can hope for.
doloresappreciationsociety 