Out of the fog the terns come calling. I hear their chatter over the waves before I see them, and then, there they are, rapid wing beats passing overhead. More emerge from the mist. They hover over the water and then fall from the sky, striking small fish below the surface. As luck would have it, I’m at Gooseberry Neck this morning, a small spit of an island in southern Massachusetts that attracts seabirds, shorebirds, and songbirds to its open water, rocky beaches, and shrubby interior. I’m grateful to be in the… Read More