I hear voices down by the lake, and I know from experience they might be in a boat passing by (most likely), or they might have decided to use OUR beach*.
I fumble for my sunglasses and head down. No voices anymore. Probably they were from a passing boat or a fishing adventure far out on the lake, and the breeze carried the voices in.
Still, who can pass up a visit to the beach?
I look around, step out on the dock. The water is lightly lapping. I hear a squawky bird noise. Out there on what’s left of the dead birch on the point (several branches from last year are no longer framed against the sky), I see that voice.
Our shoreline hunter-visitor, the bald eagle!!
Like me, a tad annoyed by an interloper. S/he took flight over the lake, and looped around me, continuing along the shoreline, now silent.
* Have I told this story? I can’t remember. Once, a long time ago, my grandmother’s friend’s sister was on the beach, OUR beach, and some folks pulled up in a motorboat, and asked, is this a public beach? Assured no, they left. When the story was retold, Hope’s sister (can’t remember her name…why??), said, “do we look public???” (She moved to Pinehurst NC in her retirement/widowhood, and volunteered during the big golf tournament there; she was quite the character….)