Yes, that’s him (or her). It was 5:25 a.m. this morning at The Cove and he’s heading back to the top of Holly Pond.

It’s been almost 2 weeks since I shared Good (?) Sunday Morning after I learned about his mate being taken down by an animal (coyote?). And he’s still searching — the shorelines, the break walls, and their nesting area.

As I stood watching him circling, Murakami’s words came to mind:

“Standing there alone, I always felt sad, a deep sadness I’d felt before, long, long ago. I remembered that sadness very well. A sadness that can’t be explained, that doesn’t melt away over time, that quietly leaves invisible wounds, in a place you cannot see. And how can you deal with something you can’t see?” (Haruki Murakami, The City and Its Uncertain Walls.)

Notes:

• More photos from this morning’s walk here.
• Post Title Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.

Good (?) Sunday afternoon.

Those of you who follow along with me on this wildly spasmodic blog, you will understand that this Swan couple have become a fixture here (obsession, maybe?). This couple and their cygnets have been a profound source of joy for the neighborhood (and esp. for me).

Swans typically mate for life. They generally return to the same nesting spot year after year. And this pair built their giant nest along the break wall on Weed Avenue again this year. The nest was stood up sometime in mid to late April. (Photo: 5:50 am. May 9, 2026)

So, each morning, I drive down Weed Avenue in anticipation of seeing my friends, and wondering if the cygnets have arrived. And for those of you who are counting, it’s been 2,210 consecutive (almost) days on this morning walk at Cove Island Park, like in a row.

Well….

In otherwise a very tough news year, let’s lay another egg on the pile.

This week’s and today’s relentless rain feels entirely fitting.

Last week, Mom was hit by a car and killed. Animal control removed her eggs and cleared the nest away.

All week, the solitary male has been restlessly searching for his mate along the shoreline.

So, there I stood, in the pouring rain this afternoon, watching him.

He suddenly unfurled his wings—as if to send a signal to his lost mate: until we meet again. (Check out his beautiful performance here.)

Mark Nepo’s closing line in his poem “Adrift” captures the mood: …

“I’m am so sad and everything is beautiful.”

Epilogue / Errata. I was misinformed. Male was killed by an animal. Female cannot incubate and forage on her own. The nest is not longer safe and was swept away to protect the grieving female. Eggs were taken to a rescue center in Westport. Thank you Danusia for providing the update.

Bethany Church Easter Sunrise Service (sans Sunrise). 6:00 – 7:00 am. 41° F, with light rain. April 5, 2026. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More photos of this morning’s walk here.

Susan was able to fulfill one of her top bucket list events this morning with a photo of an owl. Don’t miss her amazing pictures here.

It was one of those morning experiences in this crazy world we live in that we won’t soon forget.

A bit of background on this giant baby bird.

The older sibling fell out of its nest and was helped off the highway by a good samaritan who placed him/her in a resident’s front yard. The other sibling remained in the nesting cavity of a large decaying tree.

Per Gemini, “this bird is a fledgling or a ‘brancher’ given the abundance of downy, ‘fluffy’ feathers and the emerging adult plumage on the wings. At this stage, they have left the nest but aren’t yet fully capable of sustained flight, often spending their time climbing nearby branches or sitting on the ground while their parents continue to feed and protect them.”

We didn’t see Mom around but we were told she was WATCHING.

My lesser quality photos (compared to Susan’s photos) can be found here.

It’s been 2,149 consecutive (well, almost) days on this morning walk at The Cove. Like in a row.

The highlight of the morning were the Atlantic Brants. The photo time stamp on the shot above was 6:47 am, just minutes before the Sun’s lift-off. There is nothing like the sound of the battalion’s wing flaps and their distinctive call (you really must listen here). Watching them just feet above the water, I couldn’t help but think: “You look marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!“

I stood on the break wall watching the sunrise.

Momentarily at peace.

And then it was The Cove’s rush hour traffic. A new phenomenon. DK’s groupies. 5 years ago, you wouldn’t find a soul at this park at this hour, now I’m mobbed.

Susan’s to my left snapping at the sun (without our Wally, who was left behind at home — the horror!) She’s slinging two cameras over her shoulder, yes, two. (Note to Self – Susan to Dave in 2023: “You always have to take things to the extreme, do you really need two cameras?” Elephant never forgets.)

Cara’s next to Susan, sporting designer Tall Boots akin to a rider in a Dressage event. She’s criss-crossing back and forth, violently snapping at everything that moves. Oh the young-uns, they do everything with such flourish.

Then came the rest: the walkers, the dog walkers and the runners.

I pack my gear and head back.

Look at you DK — The Pied Piper of The Cove.

God, I miss the good ole’ days.

Notes: Shots from this morning’s walk can be found here.