An Evening Bike Ride - Epiphany #2

There's a small river/stream that runs through our quaint little town. I don't know the name of it, but until today when writing about it, it didn't matter what the name was. When we go walking or riding we always stop at a bridge or two and gaze over at the banks and shallows. It's not the same as a country stream. All fall and winter we'd seen no life in it. Maybe that's why I didn't care what it's name was. It's dirty city water. Polluted with the runoff of gas and oil from the streets. Wind-caught debris from people's backyards was hanging in fresh growth this spring.
Last evening, it was good to see where people have picked up debris and mowed the part way down the banks. It was actually pleasant to scan out over the slow flowing water.
And then there came ripples.
Kiddo thought it was a duck.
No.
I thought it was a snake.
Nope.
Finally, it swam into the middle and it was a young muskrat. Aww!
A few times he swam back and forth to the same spot. Then we saw his Momma. On the bank above him, she chattered to him, looked at us and dove in a hole in the damp earth. The young muskrat wasn't listening to the chatter. He was having too fine a time cruising up and down his personal part of the river.
A silly notion crossed my mind that here was Kiddo and I, a Mom and a Babe, watching a Mom and a Babe, do what Moms and Babes do.
Babes more confident and cocksure than is good for them, and Moms scolding to be careful of danger.
I know just what you mean, Momma Muskrat. I'm with ya.
Now the name to the river matter to me, because that muskrat family matters to me.

The Happy Medium
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