In the weeds

The green heron is two birds for the price of one: he's the short, stumpy shore bird blending dully into the browns at the edge of the water, but then he extends his remarkable neck and the light hits his plumage and suddenly he's transformed--tall, elegant, and brilliantly colored. We watched this fellow fishing in the shallows of a secluded weed-choked cove at Lake Hope, near Zaleski, Ohio. He didn't seem at all bothered by our presence even though we weren't particularly quiet while paddling amongst the weeds. 

I worked like a maniac to get out of the weeds syllabus-wise yesterday and celebrated by spending most of this morning in a different kind of weeds. It was like canoeing through a series of Monet paintings, with the water shifting from absinthe to cobalt to deep midnight. Dragonflies and darning needles whizzed past in brilliant shades of blue, green, and orange while kingbirds chattered and swooped above the water. Next time I'm entangled in campus craziness, I'll think back to today and remind myself that sometimes the best place to be is in the weeds.