Beaver Lake

When I am in my right mind, I make a point of riding into Stanley Park: Destination? Beaver Lake. It's one of my favorite places on Planet Earth, and I don't know why I'm not in my right mind more often. I take it all in, uncensored; smell, sound, sight and feel. I drink in the moisture-laden air and open my ears to the bird song. I am on the look-out for the beavers, a pair who have built their stick and mud lodge in the lake, not far from the gravel path which snakes around the perimeter. I always take my camera in hopes that I will catch one of them, or both, working at restoring their dam. This last time, the big male swam around for a while, but seemed worried that there were people on shore, so didn't begin his dam work. He soon grew impatient with the likes of us, and disappeared beneath the water, to surface again in the comfort of his own home. Beavers have a separate drying out chamber (not for recovering from alcohol abuse), and a living chamber. What mindful architects they are.