In the spring, there are almost no water birds. An occasional seagull passes by and the cormorant is here, joining the human fisherfolk at the deep end of the lake.
Every morning he dives and dives until he’s had breakfast. Then he dries his wings on a rock in the shallows, sometimes with a friend.
I’ve since learned that in the spring the geese take to the brush to nest. Their feathers are molting and they cannot fly.
When the geese come back in midsummer, it’s with the fuzzy headed young ones.