On New Years Day I turn off onto a side road where I’d seen this ruined farm building the day before:
Close by, the steady rains of the previous night have formed a new wetland next to the road, and it is already occupied:
Trumpeter Swans swim, bathe, and feed in the shallow water:
Often, I see swans hanging out in muddy places, like these Tundra Swans:
They can end up the same color as the fields. But a visit to cleaner waters takes care of all that. All that remains is a golden stain on their heads and necks, like these Trumpeter Swans:
And when they fly on, the crisp air rings with their resonant calls, which sound just like a jazz musician playing random notes on a trumpet:
Feathers & Leaves 