Pelicans feeding in the Slave River…
Originally uploaded by The MediaMentor.
This is one of a marvelous Pelican Set, by Georges Lessard — be sure to go see the rest.
I live in a building that was built in 1948, to provide low-cost,
post-war housing. There are two buildings, which face each other
across a driveway/ courtyard — six units in one building, four in the
other. In front of each unit is a small dirt triangle, with a
birch tree and various other plantings.
One day a few years ago, I was tending to my triangle and looked up
— there above me, moving very slowly, was a large flock of pelicans —
so low that even near-sighted I could see the black tips of the wing
feathers. In my memory, there is no sound, just the slow flight of
these great white birds against the clear blue sky.
When I lived in Alaska, I expected to see amazing things nearly
every day; here in Montana, such experiences are more surprising.
People speak of treasured memories — usually large
events, birthdays, weddings, graduations. For me, large events
fade with time, the edges tatter. It is these small moments that
arise, still clear and bright, white against a blue sky.
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