Coots love the water so much that they only leave for the deep south (100 kilometres away) when things get too rough in January. Then they come up and literally hug the ice, as if it were a floating bed of reeds they could nest on. Soon they will follow the edge of the ice to the high country lakes and ponds where they will raise their young, but for now they float in armadas on the lake. Here they are, from 150 metres up the hill.

And cruising among the gulls.

And cruising.

And looking through the window their reflection makes of the light playing on the surface of the lake, into the depths.

Here, this is one human equivalent of that deep look.

And another. Welcome to your mind. Note the gull flying through it, just larger than a water drop.

It is a time for celebration. The lake is calling.

The water people answer.

Your turn.