I'm not particularly superstitious, so I, this Friday the 13th, I did not give in to that special fear of that date on the calendar, a fear known to psychologists and historians as paraskevidekatriaphobia. It's actually an ancient bit of unnerving, but it's not one that has ever bothered me. Then again, I routinely walk under ladders, step on sidewalk cracks, and have always had a black cat or two—our current population of black felines—in residence. I don't seem to be any the worse for wear. So this iteration of the special day, rather than cower indoors, I took advantage of a splendid, though chilly, day to walk my favorite beach, Napatree Point at Watch Hill.  I wanted to check for Monarch and other butterflies, along with migrating birds, but the shoreline, the still blooming Seaside Goldenrods, and the mudflats at the lagoon were largely empty, the latter because the tide was higher than I thought it would be. Even emptying out, Napatree was splendid and wild, thoroughly welcoming. I had, of course, nothing to worry about; the ghosts of the departed migrants were altogether friendly.