I am back from a week in the bush. It was a splendid escape from the city except the weather was nowhere near what was positively forecast before I left home. I have the best fucking hand tan ever.
I saw deer, one wandering and a pair lazing in the woods; bald eagles searching the centres of lakes for a tasty meal; osprey, one of whom was carrying home a meal for its young; sandhill cranes flying with far less trouble than Boeing; curlew, who appeared inconvenienced at my proximity to whatever they were pecking for in the fields; loons who returned as they must to their shore nests in the evening; and a mother duck paddling and diving with her crazy ducklings.
What I did not see or hear were ravens, my favourite bird of all. Ravens are normally a common sight in the bush. They can often be counted on to wake bush men like myself in the early hours. Where, oh where, have the ravens gone? Long time passing...
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