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A loon is not crazy for spending more time in the water than in the air, though the other birds may think so. He is made for it. Unlike his feathered brethren, his bones are solid. He relies on their weight to defy the buoyancy of water so he can stay down. Stay down among the fishy garden of underwater plants to watch for the flash of his next meal and give chase, shooting through the water, proud of the push of paddle feet and the sleekness of feathers, well groomed and slick. Who cares if the owl continually asks questions? Who cares if the sparrows chitter at him and his mate, flitting about from branch to branch, taunting him with the ease of their flight? Let them think he is mad. See the twinkle in his red eye? Only he knows the color of the sky seen through lake water. Only he knows the sound of the absence of air. Only he knows the precious weight of bones.
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