Listen to four minutes and thirty three seconds on a March evening:
Or a March morning:
On Lake Dora’s south shore, waterfowl greet paddlers fleeing the din of development. Listen to four minutes and thirty three seconds on the water:
Heading back to the north shore, kayaks rise and fall across seaplane and pontoon wake.
Listen to a quartet of freezing rain, tintinnabulation, cardinal chips, and the space in between: