Last weekend, we visited friends at Lake Meade near Gettysburg, PA. I got up early and with my steaming cup of coffee, I walked down to the dock to watch and listen to the early morning activities.
A huge flock of tundra swans were on the far side of the lake and it was fascinating to watch them. About a dozen made their way to the middle of the lake and then in a line (like a formation) they flew off. Soon another dozen floated into a line and when ready, they flew away. This continued until all the swans had left the lake. I'm told that they stop here for a few weeks every February.

Meanwhile, about 150 yards from the dock, two adult bald eagles were roosting in a naked tree with at least 10 immature eagles. It was like the young were getting a fishing lesson. The adults would fly out over the lake, swoop down and catch a fish and fly back to the tree. Before long, some of the immature eagles were doing the same.

Needless to say, I loved it. It reminded me of many other happy memories with our dear friends at this lake and this poem is the result.

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