Those of you who follow along with me on this wildly spasmodic blog, you will understand that this Swan couple have become a fixture here (obsession, maybe?). This couple and their cygnets have been a profound source of joy for the neighborhood (and esp. for me).
Swans typically mate for life. They generally return to the same nesting spot year after year. And this pair built their giant nest along the break wall on Weed Avenue again this year. The nest was stood up sometime in mid to late April. (Photo: 5:50 am. May 9, 2026)
So, each morning, I drive down Weed Avenue in anticipation of seeing my friends, and wondering if the cygnets have arrived. And for those of you who are counting, it’s been 2,210 consecutive (almost) days on this morning walk at Cove Island Park, like in a row.
It’s late morning, yesterday. I’m catching up on the morning papers, eyes growing heavy…I doze off. What’s better than a late morning nap on a long weekend…in an absolutely silent house.
45 minutes later, my sleep is broken with wet kisses. The puppies are back from their walk with Susan. Sully settles himself on my chest, drops his head and sleeps. Wally watches from the caboose position, not sure what to make of his Brother on his Dad’s chest in his rightful spot.
I watch both of them, and think of the movie Cavalry, loved it btw. Father James shows more grief for the death of his dog than for humans subject to abuse he has witnessed. The punchline of the movie, injects a pause into the routine of the long weekend.
The next thought, and what a leap it was — to this day, Memorial Day — where my wiring somehow, some way connected this sacred day, to those humans that reached out to Yiyun Li after her second son committed suicide. She spoke of the clichés: “I know how you feel.” “It will get easier.” “This too will pass.” Some were certainly most well intentioned. Many, however, were clueless at the level of despair and loss, and the abyss that Li finds herself as her new lifelong habitat. “Life is stubborn. So am I. I have conceded to make this abyss my habitat, every single day, for the rest of my life. But I shall live in this abyss only on my terms.”
I look back at the dogs, both resting now, and their unconditional love, and I flutter back to Yiyun Li.
“There is a gracefulness, when people know what it means to do things that work. A few days after James’s death, my husband and I met Christiane for lunch, and later went to tea at Bonnie’s house. Do things that work meant that we knew they were precisely the people who had the clarity to meet us where we were: they were not there to console us or to fix our problem; only, to spend a moment with us.”
I can’t comprehend the courage that the men and women who died in their Service for this country. Or, the courage of those who Serve our country today. Nor, could I begin to understand the loss that families of the fallen live with every day.
No. I have no consoling words.
I sit. I sit quietly, in their honor, in this moment, and on this day, thinking of their ultimate sacrifice, and my gratitude.
You will get more of those as you get older. Like the strange small contentment that can sometimes be traced to grief or tears, living alongside the pain. Or the bittersweet knowledge that all things must pass.
Notes: Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
Can you find the Canada Goose in the shot above? I’ll wait until you find it. Yes, there. The speck, bottom right. Hold that thought.
It’s Thursday, 1514 consecutive (almost) days on this morning daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
I step into the park. It’s dark.
I walk.
I’ve had a flurry of chatter around me about Signs.
They see signs in the spotting of Cardinals, Blue Jays, Feathers, Hearts, Sparrows, Robins, and even Moths.
Don’t you see it DK? There!
I’ve grown up. (A little.) I stare quietly, body language not giving anything up, offering a look of contemplation. The thought process having evolved from “are you kidding me, you don’t really believe that, do you? aka George Carlin style: Religion: A Bullshit Story.
“In Herman Williams’ seminal work on the joys of being a model train hobbyist, he writes: ‘Many an hour have I spent blissfully lost in a world of my own creation. For the model train enthusiast, there exists a secret world of order and symmetry, nestled into the corners of our basements and attics, where we lord over a world where the hobbyist plays omnipotent creator. There, in one eight seven scale, the neighbors are always kind, the lovers always end up together, and the trains take you to the far-off places you always swore you’d go. In life of course, nothing is nearly as neat and tidy.’”
