river

This morning, the first of May, started cold enough for a beanie and long sleeves as a jovial couple from Shelby, NC—by way of Cape Cod—entrusted me with taking them on a two-hour river tour. Wind gusted about, but the sun broke through just as we launched and crossed towards Cow House Creek. I duly noted that, should I ever get up to Cape Cod, I must try the fried clams at a strip mall hole-in-the-wall called Sir Cricket’s. 

The rice canal today was gorgeous as ever, shadowed in deep spring, with a pileated woodpecker guiding me down it, in swoops and dips, then a pair of swallowtail kites coasting and circling. In White Creek, prothonotary warblers bothered the branches of stout dogwoods, and one posed preening for us above a yellow-budding arrow-shaped river lily—each little yellow thing like a distorted reflection of the other. 
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In the big water I found a big blue catfish hooked on a limb line below the blue heron rookery. Big and blue—that might be one way to describe the day as a whole—which was another great day out on the Waccamaw.