Morning comes early to a river. Caws and warbles pierce the brush, ride the mist and fade beyond the next bend. From our tent I see the white cattle egret peering downstream from his perch upon a stump; he’s been with us from the first. At shoreline, Ron casts to lounging fish dimpling the pool. But the palms are showing the first hint of sun, and breakfast must be eaten, camp broken, and the canoe loaded. Somewhere a woodpecker taps reveille and so I’m up, pulling on my boots and turning my thoughts to coffee and eggs.
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