Lest I forget:
Here, where I live, there are sloughs and bayous, rivers and lakes, catfish ponds like ropes of pearls. Over the years, the Delta has become a flyway for water birds. Last year there were few. I remember none. I wondered if the changing climate had altered their route.
Night before last my husband in his easy chair said: Puppies. I listened. High and away I heard them. I rushed outside, and there they were, points of light strung across the sky like Christmas itself. Wave after wave they flew south toward the river. I stood in the dark and welcomed them.