Early Last Morning
It was still August, but the mist rising up out of the marsh cooled the place, and the mosquitos settled at least for the morning. I wanted to see a muskrat because I hadn’t seen one since the bulrushes and reeds had filled the banks of the little ponds and rivulets in.
We didn’t see anything but water and plants and trees and sky, but we heard the wind coming through all of that, setting up a whispering prayer, and in my half-deafness, frogs singing together way off in the distance reminded me of old women together praying the rosary.