He said nothing, but stood beside me, matching my gaze until by some imperceptible sigh or sign he understood that I d drunk my fill. You should meet him. Your name takes up a kilobyte of space. And it all fits on your desk. Look at a tree.
Winter is best for it.
On the margin of the lake where the feeder streams converge are a string of beaver ponds like tourmaline jewels. We paddle softly as we approach, portage neatly over the dam. We hardly notice its intricate web of mud and sticks, how with a minimum of materials it holds back the current and flattens it into a pool. We've come to the beaver ponds on this spring day to see ducks.