October Skies

The first sounds on the marsh, not caused by the wind, are the wing beats of small birds. Chirps signal an end to the evening of silence at 45 minutes before sunrise. Ducks flutter in a little too soon. They don't stay long. A quick look and the ducks conclude their new friends aren't looking back.

A half hour before sunrise, the marsh is as beautiful as any place I've ever been. A steely-crisp moon, black water, gray or brightly speckled skies, pinkish yellow slivers of sky preceding the sun, and shadowy tree lines. If I were in the city, the atmosphere would be frightening. With steam rising from the coffee there is a peace in the morning.

Wet and comfortable in my canoe I thank God for the invitation to participate in His world. Starting my day this way is good for perspective. Aaron used to sleep in the bow of that canoe on the marsh. Snuggled in a warm and very soft jacket, arms wrapped around a shotgun, Aaron was as comfy there as he was in his bed--but Aaron could sleep anywhere. When the ducks began to work around our decoys, I'd whisper "Aaron. Ducks." He'd barely open one eye and ask "Where?"

Patrick took his place in the canoe this year. He ate snacks, snuggled in for some shut-eye, and plucked ducks. My boys know how to relax.

October nights are cold.