Leg 53, the westernmost of four eventual walks along the south shore of Winter harbor

Like last year at this time, all the water on the island is rushing to the sea. Every sleepy stream is awake and making itself known and the means available to them, the obstacles to their passage and the detours they've been compelled to choose combine to create every imaginable waterway.

All around this island, I've come across gulls engaged in a frenzy of feeding amidst schools of small fish. The gulls float over their prey and then, when they feel quite sure of themselves, flap their wings hard enough to get them just aloft, turn a kind of somersault and then plunge into the water like a missile. They bat about 500.

Leg 53 from the