A GOLDEN WINK

We've finally had a few days of cold weather to go with the skift of snow which came the end of last week. Wintry? Yes. But winter? No, I don't think so, as it's supposed to get above freezing today and the prediction is for highs in the low-40s˚F the remainder of the week. Maybe a few snowflakes tomorrow. If you insist, call it half a week's worth of winter.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Much as I normally enjoy winter, I've been stood up too long this time around. A dose of seasonal weather now is simply too little too late. Save it for next winter. I've already had flowers blooming. Buds are swelling on trees and shrubs. A few birds are starting to sing. My mindset is focused on spring.

Late yesterday evening, moments before the sun sank from sight in the west, I glanced out at the river which was already dark and indistinct in the gathering twilight. Something gold winked at me from the blue riffle-shadows. Then it winked again…a quick yellow flash of reflected sunlight off the flat surface of a reddish-brown stone, like the blink of a dragon's eye from the midst of a magic pool. 

Just the upper edge of the sun's fiery disk was visible above the horizon. There was a bit of wind, and a few of the taller trees on the island across from the cottage were lightly swaying. When they moved far enough, a single ray of sunlight somehow found its way through their wangles to the river's surface at the riffle, caught the small wet area of stone's downstream face, then bounced off, creating a flash. I grabbed the camera, made three quick shots—and in those few seconds the phenomenon ended. The sun disappeared. No more flirty winks from the river. 

And only one of my three snaps caught the golden wink. Pure luck.

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