You arrive at the venue, greeted not by clouds of smoke but puffs of cumulus floating high on a ceiling of blue. The tables are ice floes, and that “cool” vibe is a crisp northern breeze. An audience of whispering reeds and grasses sways in anticipation of music to come.
The marsh presents its winter performance. Emerging from the rhythm of wind and bass line of flowing waters, a dominant trumpet line—improvised yet with purpose—begins to resonate in the openness.
More low and rounded voices join; the trumpeters begin a call-and-response dance of tonality. They evolve slowly into an understated refrain of nature’s music, evoking the unhurried, suggestive tones of Miles Davis.
The performers are trumpeter swans. Marshes and wetlands, their venue. It’s hard not to be awed by these stately birds. With their extraordinarily long necks stretched straight out ahead of them, trumpeters sport wingspans of up to eight feet. Their brilliant white bodies glisten in the low winter sun…