Twenty-one mergansers moving by, south to north, hunting as a pack, and apparently finding success. This being the breeding period, I don’t know how they sort out their relationships, or who does what when it come time to rearing the young. If the birds are nesting now, I don’t know where or how.

Earlier in the day—Lakeshore Road (east side of Lake Kagawong), then Billings 8th Concession Road, then Mud Creek Road to what might be the most illustrative and concentrated flowering of trillium, anywhere in the world. It’s a maple forest, half-way leaved-out, with the trillium loving the soil and flowering profusely before the canopy closes in and the woods go dark.

It's a separate, tranquil place, with nothing but flowers and birdsong.

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There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal and the cow’s calf,
And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all become part of him.

There Was A Child Went Forth
—Walt Whitman