In the spring I saw a cormorant fishing in the Hudson. They're pretty funny, because they flap hard and yet fly low along the surface of the river, as though they can't get up no matter how they try -- until you see them rise and soar over something in their way. They also swim very low in the water, nothing sticking out but their necks, and their face markings make them look cross-eyed. I have a soft spot for them. So there was this cormorant, flying and fishing and sitting out on the pilings where the piers used to be, and I wondered if it had a mate until the day one flew past at the same moment one was swimming right in front of me, diving and dining. Then I caught on that there were two. I still didn't know whether they were a mating pair until a few mornings ago, when I got to the river to find three of them perched on the pilings. Even as far away as I was, it was clear the two slightly bigger ones were glossy black and the smaller one was duller and browner. Somewhere on the New Jersey side they must have found a place to nest. It's not as groomed over there and there are still abandoned, hard-to-get-to places. This morning the baby took off by himself, flew crazily over the river and the shore, clearly caught up in the wind currents and not at all sure what to do. Eventually, though, he made it back to the river, dove in, caught himself a fish for breakfast, and then paddled out to where the others were and jumped up onto his piling, where he spread his wings to dry them. He almost fell back into the river flapping until he got his wings spread the way he wanted them, and then he balanced there near one of the adults whose wings were also spread. I could swear I saw a look-at-me-I-DID-it! expression on his cross-eyed little face.