Yes, that’s him (or her). It was 5:25 a.m. this morning at The Cove and he’s heading back to the top of Holly Pond.
It’s been almost 2 weeks since I shared Good (?) Sunday Morning after I learned about his mate being taken down by an animal (coyote?). And he’s still searching — the shorelines, the break walls, and their nesting area.
As I stood watching him circling, Murakami’s words came to mind:
“Standing there alone, I always felt sad, a deep sadness I’d felt before, long, long ago. I remembered that sadness very well. A sadness that can’t be explained, that doesn’t melt away over time, that quietly leaves invisible wounds, in a place you cannot see. And how can you deal with something you can’t see?” (Haruki Murakami, The City and Its Uncertain Walls.)
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.
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.
Swans are the gentle giants of my local waterways: floating paragons of snowy serenity that cruise peacefully through muddy brown water amid the rowdy confusion of their smaller brethren.
And they present a puzzle. Around them, mallards, Egyptian geese and Mandarin ducks have plumage so varied that it seems like any little speck of dirt or grime would disappear into the design. But the swans, paddling around in water so opaque that their feet can’t be seen, tip their tail feathers high in the air to forage underwater for the deepest plants—yet they re-emerge an unreasonably pure white. How do they stay so clean?
[…]
Just as a swan uses an oily coating to repel water, to get rid of oil it needs a watery coating. And the answer—discovered only three years ago in a paper published in the journal Advanced Functional Materials—is saliva. A swan’s spit is full of proteins that have a water-loving end and an oil-loving end. Once in a while, the bird distributes saliva on its feathers instead of preen oil, and the oil-loving ends stick to the feathers, leaving the water-loving ends exposed.
This makes the feathers attractive to water, and so allows the watery saliva to penetrate deep into the feathers. Once it’s there, it finds channels lined with tiny wedges. The wedge shapes help surface tension push the water from the center of the feather to the edges, sweeping along and clearing out any tiny droplets of oil or fat on the way.
The feathers get a watery deep cleaning as the tiniest oily contaminants are carried away. After a while, air dries the saliva out, and the surface returns to its normal water-hating state while the swan is restored to its pristine purity.
It’s a fascinating system, and scientists and engineers are now trying to replicate it to make self-cleaning fabrics that we could use. But kudos to the swan, for having evolved the perfect spit-and-sparkle system for keeping itself clean.
Newborn. Cygnet 1 (#2 out of sight. And 2 eggs pending.) 5:17 am. 58° F. May 31 2024. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT More pictures of the newborn here. Moon and moonlight shots here. And Daybreak/Sunrise shots here.
