The osprey flies straight up the Miles River, her great black wings flapping in the gray morning sky. Over Buzzards Roost Cove, she hesitates and makes a swooping circle or two to get her bearings. She recognizes houses, trees and bright red and green navigation marks on the river. Confidently, she wheels north for the final half-mile of her long journey. She sees a nest of sticks set on a wooden platform at the edge of Anchorage Cove. She has found her summer home.
This year she has arrived early. Local lore has it that St. Patrick’s Day is when the first ospreys come.