The waters of a local lake lazily but deliberately flow over rocks meant to moderate its progression as I clamber down an embankment trying not to disturb some spring flowers.
The water is channeled into a culvert where it picks up speed and force.
After a week of colder temperatures the lake water has gone from 64 degrees to 57 degrees.
Resolute in my want to see what is happening under the surface I engage in one of my favorite intersections of nature and art, snorkeling the lakes of northern Wisconsin, just under the surface magic happens.
I have entered the world of the tadpole.
A world that still has memories of lumber trains that stopped traveling through this area in the early nineteen hundreds.
A grouping of tadpoles is called a knot
I know how lucky I am to be graced with the opportunity to engage with tadpoles in their environment.
