Some days I feel like the heron, and some days like the frog.
There is no sound quite like it - the call of the loons at night on a quiet lake in northern Wisconsin.
They remind me of summers long past - swimming and fishing and building forts in the woods with my brothers and our friends, letting the dogs run in joyful packs with leashes and collars off, spitting wood and building steps to the lake and clearing the beach of new rocks heaved up in the ice-out. We worked and played all day and then fell asleep to the sound of the loons each night.
Everything is different now; some things better, some worse. But the call of the loons remains the same; it is nature's lullaby for each new generation of little boys and little girls on Pine Lake.