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 discovery.

“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.

I snapped a shot, not just of the swans but of the place that held them: the green foliage thick with rain, a house in the distance, dark trunks fading to gray.

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