Yesterday brought freakish warmth. Welcome warmth, given the cold winter, but freakish just the same. Last week I was still debating if I could walk without gloves, and I began the stroll with hands balled up into my sleeves.

I trod counter-clockwise around the lake, spotting a fellow walker halfway around. She was craning her neck between houses to get a better view. She was quick to share her sighting.

“I’ve never seen swans on the lake before,” she said. “But I just did.” She showed me where to look, and there they were, vague dots of white on a smooth, glassy surface.

Not ducks, not geese. Must be swans.

I snapped a shot, the one you see above. It’s not just the swans I love, but the whole picture: the thick green foliage ripe with rain, a house in the distance, dark trees fading to gray.

It was not just the swans but swans on the lake. It was that moment of that walk, captured in time.