This cormorant seems to have claimed the best seat in the house.

The lake stretched out before me like a painting left unfinished. In the center of this vast stillness stood a lone cormorant, perched on a gnarled branch that jutted out of the water like an ancient relic. Its silhouette was sharp against the soft ripples of the lake, a quiet guardian of this serene expanse. The trees around it were stripped bare, their skeletal forms casting long shadows as if whispering secrets of a time when they stood lush and alive. I found myself drawn to their quiet defiance, their ability to remain rooted despite everything. The cormorant seemed unbothered by my presence or the world’s noise—it simply existed in its moment.