Swan haven

On taking a break

This far north there are only two types of swans. You can tell them apart because one type always looks like it’s in tears. Every April thousands of them pass through Tagish, crying or not crying. They land on Marsh Lake, still frozen, a duvet covering a top sheet. Their arrival brings spring and then spring goes somewhere else.

I didn’t make it to Swan Haven. Instead I saw the bird-shaped signs off the highway: Take a break at Marsh Lake. Pictured someone assembling their wooden wings and breaking them apart. Remembered feeding the swans of my childhood a bag of Wonder Bread, ripping the pieces smaller and smaller so they wouldn’t choke. Dreamed of them forcing their long necks through the windows of my grandparents’ car, where I sat, snapping their beaks in my hands.