Alder’s Unseen Crossing — At first light, when the marsh smelled of wet bark and crushed green stems, Alder chose the tallest cattail tassel and tucked its silk under his wing. Read the full story →
At first light, when the marsh smelled of wet bark and crushed green stems, Alder chose the tallest cattail tassel and tucked its silk under his wing. He had made himself a challenge: carry one dry tassel across the flooded cut to his favorite sunning root without dropping a single fluff. The water lapped hush-hush around the reeds. A loose log knocked his ankles, cold and slick, and he climbed on, paying for his shortcut with muddy toes and a scratch from a broken twig.
Halfway across, a small sound came from the shadow of the bank: peep… peep… not loud enough for the heron to hear, but enough for Alder. Under a bent fern, three eggs rested in a nest with one bare, damp edge. No mother duck was near; only the smell of rain and silt hung there. Alder stood very still. “You need it more,” he whispered, and slid the cattail silk into the hollow until the nest looked softly mended.
He reached the sunning root with nothing under his wing. Yet the breeze felt warmer where the tassel had been, and the marsh seemed to answer in little rings around the log. If you spot Alder standing tall among the cattails, you may find the place where generosity left him lighter than a feather at first light.
