The queen sits amongst the clover, surveying her territory. Since she treed the fisher (Oct., 2007) that was more than twice her size, she has been the queen of her castle. We have seen none since.
"Daddy," she cries. "Wait for me!" They have their daily ritual. Often she'll come to the door and call out for a walk. Good exercise for them! Rituals hold such an important part of our lives.
All right, off they go around the lakeshore. A peaceful trip around the yard. If he misses a spot, she'll let him know and he'll have to go back.
The flowers bloom; bees buzz. All is well with the world. The Flower Rock remains so, for many years now. Another ritual I must keep up.
The loon glides by, while boats circle her, boat wash does not faze her anymore. Her haunting cry in the wee hours of the dark morning a haunting warning of the cycle of life and that fall is approaching.
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