A Wetland Memory

2011, early June. The wetland is alive with bird songs, especially the red-winged blackbirds who are riding the breeze on swaying cattails. Chunks of the summer sky are reflecting on the water, adding blue touches to a chaotic jigsaw. I dawdle on the boardwalk that juts into the marsh, listening to smaller birds that are hiding in the undergrowth, and in a shadow I find another piece of the puzzle.

We do not remember days, we remember moments. — Cesare Pavese

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