Rural Ohio Voting

At last, the day arrives. It dawns warm and sunny. Mist rises from the hollers as we wind our way to the community hall.It is old and tired, a blue tarpaulin stretched across its bell tower.After one man leaves, we are the only ones here. We wish we could share the space all around us with those who must stand for hours.There had been a rush this morning--40 or 50 people, they estimate, more than these workers had ever seen at one time. Bill checks our stubs. He is number 27. Oh well. Twenty-seven looks like 40 when you live in the country.
They were working on a breakfast cheese ball and laughing, still talking about the crowds they'd seen. I took this picture when the laughter reached a crescendo, not wanting to intrude. In the background, Bill gets up from making his choices, while Liam draws a cartoon and waits. He will wear our stickers proudly to school.
It is so beautiful when we emerge from the hall that I stop and stare.

I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to be able to vote, to black in the oval of my choice.

Black in the oval. The subliminal mind is a beautiful thing. I must let it out more often.

Sleep well. I'll see you in the new day.

Swing State

An evening rally in a swing state. Front Street fills up with people.

Police watch from rooftops in a pastel sky
and pigeons swirl around the courthouse, watching as well.
There are people I haven't met
and some that I have. We call undecided voters from our cellphones.
Our mayor plays guitar and sings.Two from our band moonlight.
I am happy to see them.
The old armory cries out for salvation
It's a fine backdrop, even empty and worn.Full moon peeks at the shimmering crowd--a logo unto herself
Flag points her out. O!
Some watch from windows as the sky goes black.
Buses arrive. A motorcade whoops down the inky street,blue and red lights mixing to violet on the bus's flanks.Waves heave through the crowd
and the band finishes up.Everyone waits
and he emerges.
The roar goes on and on.
At last, he speaks.
He tells us what he can doand leaves us changed.

Missing Tennessees

I'm happy to say that I still have warblers in the yard as I write this. They're all yellow-rumped warblers, the most behaviorally and dietetically flexible of all the wood warblers. Right now, five of them are flitting around a pile of suet dough on the deck railing. I've never had that happen before. A Cape May warbler sampled suet dough briefly in late October, but it was in the company of yellow-rumpeds. And we did have a pine warbler eating it early last spring, but this gobbly little bunch is unprecedented. They've actually figured out how to beg--to get my attention from way in the kitchen.

I thought I'd share some photos of a bathing Tennessee warbler, taken in September.

The post next to the Bird Spa is often the vantage point from which birds make up their minds about bathing. Ooh, looks good. I'm thirsty, and I could use a bath, too.
I'll flutter and ruffle my wings. It will feel so good to be in water!
Ahhhhh!
The durned thing about starting a bath is that everybody else wants to jump in too. Copycats.
A Tennessee warbler has a reputation to uphold. We're tuff.
Hello. I believe I was bathing here first.
And I happen to like where you are bathing.
I'm sorry. Am I in your way?
Don't mind me. I bathe a little large.
Well, excuuuuuuse MEEEE.Better. Much better.
You lazy resident birds need to realize that we long-distance migrants get first dibs on the bath. You can bathe anytime. We have things to do, places to go, people to see. Begone!