Swans

Looking at the reservoir in Brewster from my sister-in-law’s home, we spy on several swans gliding with grace along the glassy surface. There were three, now four. Our attention now drawn to two ducks wading well ahead of the swans, we miss the approach of not one or two, but some six more swans joining the others from behind the trees on the shore. I’ve learned that despite all their grace, they are nasty, brutish bullies, but right now they paddle along, their curved alluring necks still, none the least bothered by the birds around them. 

A couple of geese fly in, swiftly scooting away from the swans, and far off on the other side of the reservoir an entire flock of gulls come by, skimming the air just inches above the water, as if on tiny ice skates all. We watch as they finally begin to alight on the surface, as far from the swans as they can be. 

For their part, the beautiful beasts, the swans, hold court near our shore while we pay our tribute.