At the end of the trestle bridge, we found this Common Baskettail in emergence. It had climbed out of the water and up the concrete stanchion, perhaps five feet in height. There, it began to enter the last stage of life.
I stayed, watching, but Rana turned toward the lake, and in that instant, its wings snapped open.
We watched the shiver, warming the wings, but didn't wait for flight.
And I still wish we had.
I never tire of the process of becoming.