Trey Kirchoff awoke to the sounds of spring in his head, but when he looked out the window silent winter lay frozen and pale all around him.
He cleared the vestige of spring from his mind. If he was to capture the footage needed today there was no time to waste on phantom seasons.
He donned his heaviest coat and ventured with his camera out into the cold morning, wishing the sun would fulfill its empty promise of heat.
His lonely trek took him two miles through a frost covered greenbelt and down to a clear frozen lake, home to the snow birds he was seeking.
The endangered White Grendel migrated here in winter laying eggs deep in the frozen bushes and incubating them until they hatched in spring.
The rare bird had obtained an almost mythical status, seldom seen, but Trey had sighted them here as a child and was certain he would again.
He set up his camera on the bank of the water and huddled down behind it for a long wait. He chainsmoked as he patiently waited for his cue.
After hours of silence a faint rustling sounded, betraying the birds locale. A glint of a metallic beak caught his eye from across the lake.
He grabbed his camera and quietly inched across the thick ice that promised to support him. He slid once before reaching the opposite shore.
He sank to his knees and the ice cracked silently, giving no warning as it broke and trapped him below the mirror of the surface til spring.
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