As always, we can hear little ones gurgling, suckling, and mewing inside. Sasha strains forward to listen intently. I think the tender sounds of baby beavers awaken her mothering instincts. The big grey heron arrives overhead and makes a full-flaps steep descent into a tree nearby, knocking off several small dry branches on the way in. It sits watching us.
Frogs begin to sing bass notes in the weeds nearby.
The baby beavers continue to babble. We seem to have been accepted as a part of something precious and magical. Too soon it's time to go. The evening is darkening here under the trees and it will soon be time to be off the lake. We turn about in the wider portion of the stream and head toward the lake in rapidly gathering darkness.