I was walking through the city at dawn, following a salmon-bearing stream, seeing beaver signs everywhere, admiring ducks and squirrels, when I came across a sort of homeless camp on the fringes of a city park. The camp looked like several mortar rounds had scored a direct hit. Tents flattened. Shit everywhere but not a single person around. I inspected some of the shit and was dumbfounded by the presence of a few items (egg beater, I think?). I was making a mental note of these inexplicable items when I turned my head and beheld an egret off to the side of the carnage, plucking frogs from the mud, mud that used to be a football field but had gone to seed (muck) long ago and no one would ever play football there again.
I was struck by the beauty and grace of the egret in such a bleak setting. It was almost a feeling of blindness to see it. I watched the egret for a few minutes and then continued my walk, hunting for beaverwood and answering the current questions in my life, which are many these days, and utterly new.