The gentle, arched wob-wob, she advances step-step up the lake. There is no one here except the mini-Lochnesses momentarily periscoping up, facing the wind as it whips up waves. Oh, another follows step for step in step. I realize this is Spring. Briefly, I wonder if the tension is only my speculating: she will yield without a fight or they are already friends as well as lovers. It is Spring and each walk step-step up this long lake and it would take all day; no, never finish, they way they walk step-step. He leans into flight, glides purposefully down the lake, over the hill, and is gone. Perhaps she didn’t notice; perhaps she felt a mere ripple of a flap amid the wind; perhaps she was only looking one step ahead as she continues step-step. She eventually settles in and he returns, wings splayed, cruising to the other end like he has some business to attend to.