On a bright fall day, my husband and I are canoeing the Betsie River. Our favorite stretch is the flooded area above the Grass Lake dam which was created as a habitat for waterfowl.
We steer between high walls of cattails—against a strong wind. My head is down in fierce concentration but when I glance up, I see how the cattails are dancing. They bow and sway with such grace, I stop cursing the wind and celebrate this perfect partnership.
High above the river in a dead pine tree, we see two bald eagles—watching us as we watch them. Further on, we notice a fresh beaver lodge and stare at the swirling water, hoping to see a neat brown head appear. Oh, there he is. No, he’s gone.
Suddenly a great blue heron leaps out of the reeds and soars over the river. We meet him again and again as we paddle around each turn. He is always standing on a muskrat house—and each time we glide a little closer before he jumps into the sky. I wish he could trust us enough to stay—to have a conversation. And then I realize that this is what we’re having.