Yes, they do fall. And they make a noise. The ones we wish we had seen, and the ones we don't yet know we want to see. There's just no way to soften the hard fact that beauty and grace and light and the reddest feathers you could ever wait to see all happen behind our backs and without the slightest apology for the show that goes on second by second even now as you and I focus merely on the end of this sentence.
Carol just spoke with me on the phone about the pair of summer tanagers she saw today. In the Live Oak. While I was at work on the ambulance. Six point three miles away. Behind my back.
(Courtesy: animals.nationalgeographic.com)
She and I compete each year to see who can identify the first this or that bird. Usually the scissor-tailed flycatcher, the kestrel, and the painted bunting. But any spotting can provide opportunity.
More lovelies flowering, whether we see them or not. (Harlin saw these.)
Carol just spoke with me on the phone about the pair of summer tanagers she saw today. In the Live Oak. While I was at work on the ambulance. Six point three miles away. Behind my back.
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| Piranga cooperi |
She and I compete each year to see who can identify the first this or that bird. Usually the scissor-tailed flycatcher, the kestrel, and the painted bunting. But any spotting can provide opportunity.
More lovelies flowering, whether we see them or not. (Harlin saw these.)
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| Cutleaf evening primrose (Oenothera laciniata) |
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| Rock Lettuce, or White Dandelion (Pinaropappus roseus) |
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| Verbena |
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| Nightshade (Solanum triquetrum) |
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| Wild Garlic |
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| Bitterweed (Hymenoxys scaposa) |
The other morning I was stuffing my stuffable things in their stuff sacks at the Bonita Canyon Campground of the Chiricahua National Monument. The wind was especially hyper and undoing two steps for every three I made towards packing my gear away and getting on the trail. As my focus intensified on the wind battle I heard a chirp-like sound from behind me.
ReplyDeleteI thought it was a chipmunk or squirrel or something like that.
I looked over my shoulder, one hand in my sleeping bag stuff sack, as I heard the call again.
It was a gorgeous acorn woodpecker, with a fuzzy red-topped head and one-of-a-kind black eye with white ring. He had landed on a tree behind me and was trying to get my attention, saying in bird speak something like, "Hey, you there! Did you forget why you came here? Well, here I am! Adios!" Then he flew away.
As usual, I turned to ask my six year-old daughter what kind of bird it was (she knows better than I), but I was solo.
I got back to stuffing and suddenly realized the odds of that bird, right behind my back. With an inside grin I remembered why I was there.