Vulpine, did you lose
the chance to eat the Salmon
found by another first?
Red fur in the brush
only partially reveals
she who found the fish.
Category: Nature
Time for Reflections
Sunset reflections
remind us to pause and see
the world is still good
Water reflects sky
mirroring bushes and trees
Everything placid.
The twilight compline
Sung by the birds arises
As colors soften
and fade away.
Hanging Around with Not Much To Do
There is more than one way to do it. The technique is important. So is motive.
I Thought It Was a Green Heron
When I lived in Alexandria, it was adjacent to Huntley Meadow Park, a Fairfax County Park complete with a boardwalk over a beaver pond,
- dozens of waterfowl,
- deer,
- coyote,
- fox,
- muskrats,
- snakes,
- frogs.
We often saw Canada geese and Great Blue Herons but we never saw a Green Heron.
I had to move to San Diego before I thought I saw my first Green Heron. Located on Paradise Point in Mission Bay, the Barefoot Bar & Grill is a tiki-inspired bar and restaurant. The bar also sells Swimmy Snacks to feed the fish swimming in its saltwater aquarium in a fenced-off portion of the Bay. Although these fish do not appear on the menu, they do have a few feathered fishermen. While the California Brown Pelicans occasionally did a fly-by, one small heron seemed to be a regular diner.
On one visit, the heron decided to explore as it wandered around the patio tables as if looking for additional food choices besides fresh fish.
If it was a Green Heron (which I now doubt), ” from a distance, the Green Heron is a dark, stocky bird hunched on slender yellow legs at the water’s edge, often hidden behind a tangle of leaves. Seen up close, it is a striking bird with a velvet-green back, rich chestnut body, and a dark cap often raised into a short crest. These small herons crouch patiently to surprise fish with a snatch of their daggerlike bill. They sometimes lure in fish using small items such as twigs or insects as bait.”
Now I’m wondering what type of heron it was. What do you think it is?
Finger of Fog–Tandem Haikus
Fingers of fog slipped
stealthily down the mountain
sniffing each treetop
before moving on,
obscuring everything
as it slid downhill.
Between the Tides
We have our highs;
we have our lows
that vary daily
as water flows
pulled by both
sun and moon
nature’s rhythm
calls the tune.
Storms can make
low tides seem high
when storm-surge splashes
to kiss the sky
leaving brine drops
hanging in the air
where seabirds soar
with acrobatic flair.
Why Didn’t You Shovel the Other Side?
When you are a Fed in the DC Metro area Monday through Friday, the OPM website tells you whether or not to report to work if there is any snow or other major weather event. However, if you have to work on the weekend, you are on your own.
In the 1990s, I ran the post library at Ft Myer next to Arlington Cemetery. On Friday evening, I was in Mechanicsburg, PA to accompany my husband to a mandatory evening function. (I can’t remember what it was, but it involved evening wear.) It had snowed all day and we thought that the event might have been canceled but Central PA routinely deals with the type of snow that would paralyze DC.
On Saturday morning, we got up extra early to shovel the snow away from the cars so that we could begin the two-hour drive back to Arlington, Virginia. The Pennsylvanians had already cleared the snow in Carlisle, PA, and south along US 15. In Maryland, I-270 was in almost as good a shape. I-95 in Maryland and Virginia was tolerable. The roads on Ft Myer had not been touched.
Fortunately, my Chrysler convertible had front-wheel drive, as long as the snow was shallow enough for the wheels to haul the low chassis through the snow. My husband’s four-wheel-drive Jeep did better in the snow but a higher center of gravity meant it was not as stable as my convertible when changing lanes on icy highways.
When we got to the library, the Jeep lead way into the partially shoveled parking lot. My husband drove the Jeep back and forth creating parking spaces for both of our cars. Stepping into knee-deep snow, we waded to the front door of the library. He made coffee in the staff room while I began sweeping off the front step enough to empty the book drop outside the front door, which was fortunately almost empty.
After a quick cup of coffee to warm up, we got back into our winter jackets to begin shoveling the path we had created wading up to the front door. The snow was heavy and wet, each shovelful was a struggle to for two semi-fit fourty-somethings.
“Why don’t they get some soldiers out to help us?” he asked, gazing down the street at the barracks a few blocks away.
“Don’t know who to call on the weekend,” I explained.
We kept shoveling and thinking of all of those nearby 18-year-olds who could have finished this off in a much shorter period of time and might have enjoyed the chance to have fun in the snow.
After an hour, he went back into the library. By now the ten-foot sidewalk was half shoveled. The library had opened at 11 and so far no one had come out to brave the snow. I continued shoveling for another hour and was almost finished when he came out with some salt to melt the slushy sidewalk.
I had just finished shoveling and he had most of the slush melted on the half of the sidewalk to the driveway. The half of the sidewalk to the street was still full of snow although the base engineers had plowed the street by now.
A lady parked her car on the street at what would have been the sidewalk if it had been shoveled. Although not an authorized parking spot, it was the quickest path from the street to the library front door. Grimacing, she stepped into the snow and marched as fast she could through the snow.
“Why haven’t you shoveled this yet?” she demanded, ignoring the half a sidewalk that we had shoveled.
“We did shovel the half to the parking lot,” I replied, pointing the shovel at the wet side of the sidewalk.
She threw her book onto the counter and huffed off.
About thirty minutes later, a sergeant came by with eight young soldiers, carrying shovels. They spaced themselves out and had the rest of the sidewalk shoveled in about twenty minutes. When I asked where they had been that morning, they looked at each other, laughed, and said “Asleep in our bunks.”
Ostrich
Only
Seeing
The
Reality
In
Cranial
Hindsight
Surreal Big Sur
Windswept waves rush towards
rocky beaches
splashing sea spray into the air.
A dynamic picture that lacks
the shrill screech of the gulls,
the salty air spliced with sage,
the feel of the gritty breeze blowing
against my bare arms and legs.
Humidity
My perspiration clings to my back
trapping the itch
between skin and cotton t-shirt
like condensate clings
to a chilled wine bottle.
No breeze dares
to disturb the humidity
Which overwhelms
Everything and everyone
July 20–National Moon Day
Today is the fifty-first anniversary of man’s first walk on the moon on July 20, 1969.
On July 20, 1969, Apollo 11 carried the first humans to the moon. Six hours after landing on the moon, American Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface. He spent two and a half hours outside the spacecraft. Buzz Aldrin soon followed, stepping onto the lunar surface. After joining Armstrong, the two men collected 47.5 pounds of lunar material. Their specimens would make the journey back to Earth to be analyzed.
In the command module, a third astronaut waited. Pilot, Michael Collins, remained alone in orbit until Armstrong and Aldrin returned.
In honor of National Moon Day, take the Ultimate Moon Quiz.
It is not a particularly difficult quiz or I was a lucky guesser.
Reblog: Apache Blessing
Sometimes you read something so profound that it has to be shared. That’s the way I felt about An Apache Blessing from Hey Beck’s blog.
Foggy Views
Stillness and reflection
thick enough to feel
permeable to entry
shrouding what lies ahead
like a portal to the future.
Will we recognize it
when we see it?
Reblog: Stonehenge to Livestream the Summer Solstice
If you can’t get to Stonehenge because of COVID-19, you can still see it for the first time.
https://matadornetwork.com/read/stonehenge-livestream-summer-solstice-celebration
Reblog: A(i)n’t Just a Rant!
Narendra is brilli-ant with photography and insights into bird in his native India (nt). Now he has written a charming tale, laden with ant puns. You are in for signific-ant pleasure. Maybe he will write enough for an Ant-hology.
Enjoy the story. via A(i)n’t Just a Rant!
The Ballast Has Shifted
Ballast in the hold
shifted as waves
beat against the sides,
the vessel listed.
Winds rose
waves pummeling
ever harder.
The vessel groaned
as the ballast shifted further
up the starboard side.
Ceaseless storms broadsided
the vessel which
floundered in the maelstrom.
Without a firm hand
on the wheel,
swirling winds and currents
decided her track.
Sickness stalked the vessel.
Equipment failed.
The crew mutinied.
Winds of change
blew against the sides
recentering
the ballast in the hold.
The vessel groaned
righting itself.
Mr. Christian smiled.
The ship of state sailed on.
Reblog: Walking from Harvesting Hecate
Andrea Stephenson, a librarian in the UK, has written the blog I wished I had had the eloquence to write. She loves walking in nature; it grounds her. She expresses how it might feel if she were not white.
From her post (not the beginning)
I take it for granted that I can walk where I want to walk without needing to have an explanation. I take it for granted that I belong in this space, that I belong in nature and should have a relationship with it. When I walk, I draw on memory, history, past and present to find my place in the world. Very occasionally I’ve felt vulnerable, as a woman alone, but in general I don’t think twice about my safety. Somehow I feel no harm will come to me among nature.
To read more click here.
Reflections in Haiku
Memorial Day
unmasks the real you, not a
reflected version.
Fog of war perhaps
obscures what you let us see.
It does not hide all.
Like a gliding goose,
the teleprompter’s words just
show us the surface
Midnight tweets reveal
Your inner thought and wishes
Underneath the words.
What Would Hoover Think?: Another Attempt to Slow Down Enterprising Squirrels
Since we moved to Central Virginia, we have had an ongoing struggle making our bird feeder more squirrel proof. We are on our third feeder and the squirrels have outwitted us every step of the way.
Jean Marie Oliviere sent me a link to the Ninja Warrior Squirrel Proof Bird Feeder. Mark Rober put a lot of thought and effort into building his squirrel proof feeder and documenting the success or lack thereof of his attempts.
If you enjoy watching cheeky tree rats engage in a battle of wits with humans, then you will love the four squirrels in this Building A Perfect Squirrel Proof Bird Feeder.
Sorbet Sky
Raspberry melted into mango
Lemon swirled through the orange
Blueberry striped against the strawberry puree
As a palm frond sat like an unused spoon handle
In the bowl of the sorbet sky.
