Sunday Afternoon

All winter I've been watching the waterfowl, half a dozen of which were at any one time floating on the little tendril of Puget Sound that snakes into the shoreline parallel to my back lot. All day I'd see them, and at night I'd hear them. But today I hadn't seen a bird on the water all day. Where'd they go?

I investigated a little more closely while on a walk uphill to the corner store. The tide is coming in now, with sun shining invitingly on the glassy surface of the tiny bay. One lone seagull hunted for clams in the middle distance. Then a pair of mallards started up from the muddy shoreline about 20 yards below my feet where they'd been digging for grubs and such. I was still a good distance from them, but they're very shy and they flew off.

There's no denying the season is finally changing. The earth and air are warming, and today's tepid sunshine is a welcome contrast to yesterday's cold drizzle and monotonous overcast. At the blacktopped little hillside strip mall where the store sits, the grassy areas are dotted with young dandelions and some sort of miniature wild daisies. The air is sweet and it's a joy to be able to breathe it.

Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye," famously asked, "Where do the ducks go in the winter?" Apparently they come here, and then in the spring they go back to Central Park. That'll work as a theory until a better one comes along.