There is a large white swan floating on the river across the street from my house right now. I can see it directly out my window, through the few trees that the asshole across the street didn't rip out for his megalomansion. On this mild, sunny spring day, the river is a bright blue, and the swan is the purest white slash drifting across it. Every now and then he cries out -- you know, makes that swan noise.
The damn river's name is actually Swan River and yet I am still stunned motionless every time I see one of them. And now, now that I'm focussing on them, I can suddenly see the tribe of downy baby swans floating around behind their parent (who am I to say it's the mommy that takes them out for a swim?). Cygnets, they're called.
My very own cygnet committee. God, I love spring.
Even the part where my libido goes haywire and I want to throw various people amorously to the floor mid-sentence. The third or fourth time it happens, it gets a tad awkward.