Oh, how I love these showery, flowery days.
when the rainbow ends in a pot of gold.
The Forsythia has gone by now, all green leaves and laggard blossoms. When it goes, the roses grow. I cut them back early this year, and they're beginning to bounce back from the horrible winter of 2013. Worried that I've finally lost Rio Samba, but I worry that every single spring, and she always surprises me.
Sometimes the rainbow ends on a real pot of gold. That would be Chet Baker.
I don't know that he's a pot of gold. He's a pot of somethin'. I've been reading some news stories lately about how people get a little squirt of oxytocin, the "love hormone," when they gaze into their dog's eyes. And the dog gets a little squirt too, and they both feel all gooey and good.
I call Chet Baker "Oxytocin Ocean."
I adore spring and fall for their dramatic light. You must run out quickly to catch it when it happens.
Our ancient pear, busting out with a rainbow chaser.
I cannot stay inside on days like this. Come on, Chet. Let's go!
In the driveway bluebird box, the first two treasures.
I go to visit my girlfriends, just putting on their spring formals, dancing in anticipation.
And even though nobody's there to appreciate it but me, the old farmstead is abloom, alight with white spirea, pink peaches and quince, gold forsythia, narcissus and daffodils.
The living legacy of settlers long gone blooms on.
I dream of living here, so far away from everything. Not in this house, though. I'd leave it to the squirrels and raccoons and rat snakes.
Too bad about the dang telephone pole. I like this angle, though, with the pheasant's eye narcissus smelling so sweet, the golden forsythia growing wild in back.
On this day it was so warm I caught myself in an accidental upside-down selfie without my shirt. Sports bra's good enough for a 70-degree day and deserted dirt roads. My favorite kind.
Everywhere, American shad lights up the forest with its white candles. Where's Waldo? The tiny black dot on up ahead.
And a minuscule red eft crosses a gravel road. The smallest I've ever found. This photo is about life size.
I carried him the way he was headed, to a damp ditch. The Deus ex Machina he'll tell his little larval kids about, the hand that reached down from the sky to sweep him to safety.
Who knows how far he's already come, and how far he'll travel this year?
He's looking for something. Someplace different than where he's been. I don't know how I see them, but I seem to run into them all the time. Maybe because we're both on a quest.
But no great big benevolent hand is going to pick me up and carry me across. I have to get there all by myself.
7 comments:
The little eft doesn't expect a hand, nor would it have any words (thought-pictures?) to describe such an occurrence when it does happen. As humans, we have only recently begun to speculate that there probably is life in other areas of space. But other dimensions in our own space? Most people would say that belongs in the realm of science fiction. But let us remember how quickly that science fiction can become science fact, and that things that we take for granted now (television, telephones) would have seemed like magic a couple hundred years ago. There are colors and sounds that are of such a frequency that we cannot see or hear them (just ask Chet Baker, if you don't believe me.). Is it really outside of the realm of possibility that there may be other dimensions right here among us that we cannot perceive with our somewhat limited five physical senses? And just as we stop to help the eft or box turtle across the road, or put the nestling back in the nest when it has fallen out... might not these entities help us at times when we need to cross a hazardous road? Perhaps by putting shed stag antlers in one's path as a sign. These are just some of the things I love to speculate upon....
There's so many things I love about your blogs. The long walks are my favorite, I think. It's like tagging along with you and CB and learning lots of cool new stuff, with you pointing out all the beautiful and miraculous things I would probably miss because my mind was spinning on unimportant things, as it often is. I love the pictures of the sky, the growing things, the old houses; pretty much love all of it. I love the narrative which is insightful, droll, educational, and just lots of fun. I love it how you name things, sometimes with their scientific labels and sometimes with your own personal tags. Those zicknames (sorry, couldn't resist) make the trees and birdhouses feel so familiar. Ahhh, the little red eft, the snappie of your sports bra, it's the small things that make me smile when I read your journal. It's all like a deep in and out breath. Is Hendershot the name of the mailbox or the bird family? Thanks ever so much for this delightful piece........
You can find the old farmsteads around here, even when all the buildings are long gone, by the lilacs and the rhubarb patches that seem to live on forever. Great post....
I've been meaning to ask you about peeking into our nest box. The morning after we put ours up, a pair of Western bluebirds was there, going in and out. We were so excited! After a short time we didn't see them nearly as often, then not at all. We figured they had moved on. I wanted to peek inside but was afraid of putting them off a nest. Then the violet-green swallows returned, and I saw a pair of THEM checking out the next box, although I never saw the female enter it. A few days later I noticed the swallows nearby, then a smaller bird darted past them and into the box! I got out the binocs to see that it was a cheeky chickadee. Since then, I've seen the chickadees, swallows AND bluebirds around the nest box, and I'd REALLY like to know who has set up housekeeping. The box is too high for me to look inside without a step ladder. How much risk is there in looking?
ACK; just typed a long comment and it's gone. Anyway, I'm dying to know if the Western bluebirds, the violet-green swallows or the chickadees have claimed our bluebird box; all have been hanging around (although I've only seen Mrs. Bluebird and Mrs. Chickadee actually enter, and the latter more recently than the former). The box is too high to peek into without a step-ladder; I'm afraid of putting whoever off their nest. How do you safely get your egg photos?
Never fear, your comment's not gone, it's here, Michelle. I peek in my boxes several times weekly, going easy during nest building and egg laying. To get my photos, I take the entire nest out sometimes for better light. You have to be able to access and open the box to clean it and monitor it. Please call 1-800-TRY BIRD and order my booklet, Enjoying Bluebirds More. You need more of a tutorial than I can give here! ;)
Oh the lovely salamandras!
Oh yes, the worlds within worlds. The worlds so obvious to me and you and others who love nature but are totally obscured to so many who don't notice at all.
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