A Day Off for the Swans

While out on our walk the other day we noticed what we thought were a couple of swans off in the distance. But they were not moving at all. We decided it was probably just a couple of rocks now visible because of all the snow and ice melt going on.

That was until we got a lot closer and realized they were indeed swans.

But they were not in their usual leisurely floating-across-the-water mode that we are used to seeing. In fact, the only other time I remember seeing swans lying down like this was when they were sitting on their eggs.

Could this be the swans’ day off? Was one of them sick while the other kept watch?

Most of the snow and much of the ice around here has vanished. So it appears the swans were simply taking a break to enjoy some of the warmth the sun was creating on top of the remaining ice. Certainly warmer than the cold water they’ve been swimming around in all winter.

Another typical New England in-between moment. Winter doesn’t quite have its claws dug in anymore, and spring isn’t quite jumping with joy just yet.

More negotiating to find a way forward.

The swans seemed to be projecting the perfect picture of what many of us are feeling. They too may be tired of this long winter.

Two swans lying flat on the ice. Necks folded back, resting against their feathers. Soaking up the pleasures of a warm winter sun that has been in short supply.

That elegance we usually connect with swans was packed away as we walked past. No posing. No gliding.

Yet they looked like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Maybe they weren’t trying something different at all. Perhaps they, just like us, were simply trying to capture the gift of a brilliant winter sun, knowing it could vanish again without much notice.

Perhaps they too were trying to restore some of that energy needed to survive the most challenging days of winter.

And I’m thinking… how can I not completely understand this strategy?

Sometimes the sun comes out and the best thing we can do is simply be in it. Letting it do its work. The kind of quiet recharge that arrives during those in-between moments we don’t expect, but certainly appreciate when they show up.

It’s also a reminder of something rather simple.

Not everything arrives with a bunch of noise attached to it. Sometimes it’s just a quiet moment stretched out on a half-frozen pond. Two swans deciding that, at least for a little while, bright sun and a retreating winter make perfectly good sense.

Talk soon…

G