Scenes from a Chesapeake island refuge in winter— short days mean long shadows, and an easily-lost distinction between water and land, past and present. Ringing high over the still water is the mournful calls of tundra swans, overwintering in the ice-sheeted coves. The ghostly tufts of cattail and phragmite catch the last light, will o’ wisps of summer’s green lushness.