August 16, 2018 by mbhmaine

Chronicle of a Bird Encounter: Part Three

Part 1 describes how I took an injured fledgling in.
Part 2 ended with me debating about whether to release the bird before talking to an expert.

Now the story continues…

Hoping for a happy-ending story, but feeling a bit guilty for proceeding without expert advice, I picked up the box and carried it outside. (By the way, I have a hard time explaining why I didn’t wait. I’m kind of embarrassed. I think I convinced myself the bird was suffering in the box and ready to soar into the sky. If I were reading this scene in a book, I’d be yelling at the protagonist–“Don’t do it! Just wait!” But somehow I managed to drown out that little voice in my own mind.)

Kneeling beneath the birch tree, I opened the box and tilted it slightly toward the grass. In an instant the bird had hopped out. It flapped its wings.

“Come on, little guy! You can do it!” I said, stepping back to give it a bit of space.

Instead of flying though, the bird hop-flapped across the driveway and the yard until it reached the shelter of the trees.

It then hopped on to a tree and started climbing. Ok, Yes! This might work. I was feeling cautiously optimistic. Until… a few inches up the tree, the bird stopped moving.
“Come on!” I encouraged the bird. “You can do it! Just keep on climbing!” After a few minutes it was the clear that the bird was not going to climb higher. I decided to give it some space and check back in a few minutes. I walked back inside and checked my phone. Sure enough, there were not one, but two messages on my phone from Avian Haven.

Ugh. I should have waited.

Feeling guilty, I called back. Again, I got the recorded message. This time as I left my message, a call beeped in. Avian Haven! I answered, relieved to finally speak with an expert. In a garbled gush, I confessed to releasing the bird and asked for advice. The volunteer was kind and reassuring, but based on what I described, she wondered if the bird might have a fractured wing. Apparently birds can still flap with a fractured wing, but aren’t able to fly.

While talking to her, I walked back out to check on the bird. It was still a few inches up from the base of a tree. After discussing options, we agreed that I would try to capture it. Then if I could recapture the bird, she would get me in touch with a nearby volunteer who was already planning to drive it up to the center later that day.

I lined the cat carrier with an old towel (No, birds can’t smell. I’d asked.) and per her instructions, grabbed a soft, old T-shirt. This was going to be interesting. I approached the edge of the yard and put down the carrier. The bird was right where I’d left it. I slowly stepped toward the tree and the bird scrabbled around the trunk and out of sight.

“Hey, buddy, don’t worry! It’s okay. I’m going to get you some help.”

I continued a run of reassuring comments, but each time I approached, the bird scuttled to the opposite side of the tree trunk. It peeked around the edge of the trunk, eyeing me with suspicion. We moved back and forth. Back and forth. Eventually I had to laugh–that eye!

But even though I saw the humor in the situation, I was increasingly worried. How am I going to catch this guy? Along with that worry came the weight of responsibility. I should have waited to let him go.

After a bit of thought, I carefully gathered the T-shirt in one hand and reached my other hand high around the tree trunk to grasp it. I couldn’t see the bird now, but I slowly lowered the shirt toward where I hoped the bird was. With a loud shriek the bird dropped off the trunk and started hopping away in the dense underbrush. Great! I pursued, maintaining a flow of one-sided conversation with the bird (“Come on! I’m trying to help!”) and ultimately, after some creative underbrush maneuvering, low-level cursing, and good luck, within a few minutes I managed to capture it.

When I lifted it up, holding it within my T-shirt, it immediately started shrieking again. Oh, no! Am I hurting it? I held my hands cupped around the bird, careful not to exert any pressure, but determined to keep it within my grasp. Wow! What a racket! I looked overhead warily, expecting irate bird parents to dive bomb me in response to their offspring’s clear distress. Then, quickly and gently, I deposited the bird in the carrier.

Success! Now to get the bird to Avian Haven!

to be continued…

August 15, 2018 by mbhmaine

Chronicle of a Bird Encounter…Part Two

In Part One (here) I shared my discovery of a fledgling out of its nest and my decision to take it in overnight. I ended with the line: “I closed up the box and set it in the mudroom, crossing my fingers that I was doing the right thing and that the bird would make it until morning.”

Part Two: the story continues…

In the middle of the night I woke. How’s the bird? That box is really small. Maybe it’s too small. But I didn’t have another box. Oh…wait…I could have used the cardboard cat box we got from the shelter.

I thought about this for a few minutes. Should I go downstairs and move the bird to that box or would that be more stressful?

But…wait! Can birds smell? And shouldn’t I know that? If I put the bird in a cat carrier, would I be surrounding the bird with dense cat scent? A feline miasma? Ugh…that doesn’t seem like a good idea.

I tossed and turned. At around 5 am I crept downstairs. After pushing start on the coffee machine, I walked into the mudroom. The box sat on the counter. What would I find inside? Please let it be alive! Please let it be alive! I took a deep breath and carefully started opening the box, trying to move the cardboard flaps without too much jostling. Immediately, the box shook and the happy sound of flapping wings hitting cardboard filled my ears.

Oh, thank goodness! It’s alive! And active!

The beating wing sounds subsided and I peeked into the box. There was the bird, dry now, and definitely looking like a fledgling woodpecker…maybe a red-bellied?

“Hey, little guy,” I whispered, “How ya doin?”

It sat in the box, unmoving now. Its beak was open, but it was silent. Why is its beak open like that? Is it thirsty? How long can it go without food and water? After a moment, I carefully closed the box up again, not wanting to stress the bird with my presence.

The clock dragged until 8 am when Avian Haven opened. Exerting extreme will power, I resisted peeking into the box again. At 8:01 I called AH and much to my dismay, no one answered. I listened through the long answering machine recording and left a message explaining the situation. Then I waited for a response. And waited. And waited. It felt like an eternity.

At 8:40, I still hadn’t heard back. I was increasingly concerned that the bird must be thirsty and hungry. I had checked again, and its beak was still open. That just didn’t seem right. And the darned box was small. Really small. The bird was clearly in better condition than it had been last night, but it had already been in the box for over 12 hours.

That’s when I started arguing with myself.

Me #1: Maybe I should let it go… It’s definitely improved. It can flap its wings …
Me #2: Just be patient and wait for the call.
Me #1: But it’s taking so long!
Me #2: You should have left a message last night. They’re probably working through the backlog of calls. They’ll call soon.
Me #1: It’s been 45 minutes! Maybe I can just try to release it…see what happens when I open the box…
Me #2: For goodness sake, just wait until they call back!
Me #1: But…it might just fly off! Wouldn’t that be great?

Back and forth. Back and forth. The phone remained silent.

What should I do?

to be continued…

August 14, 2018 by mbhmaine

Chronicle of a Bird Encounter…Part One

11454297503_e27946e4ff_h Kurt walked into the family room, wiping rain from his glasses.

“There’s a fledgling out there. I think it fell out of a nest during the storm.”

“What? Where!?” I asked.

“Right out under the birch tree,” he replied.

“Where’s Juniper?” I asked, immediately worried about our ferocious beast of a cat.

“She’s out there, too,” he said.

“What!?!” I squawked. Quickly I threw on shoes and ran outside, barely listening to Kurt’s continued comments.

“I don’t think she’s touched her…the bird was upside down under the tree…I doubt it will make it…”

Sure enough under the birch, through the dark and rain, I saw a bedraggled mound of feathers. Nearby was Juniper, our beast of a cat. Luckily, as far as I could tell, she had not yet pounced. I raced over and quickly scooped her up with, I confess, some fear for my continued health and well-being, and dumped her inside. Quickly shutting the door, I walked back out to take a look at the bird. I crouched down in the grass speaking softly to it.

“Hey, baby bird, what’s up? Did you take a spill? Where’s your nest?”

The bird was upright, but still looked pretty pathetic, sitting in the grass with damp, black wings semi-splayed to each side. It was hard to see colors on the rain-darkened feathers, but it looked like there were some spots of white. What kind of bird is it? White spots…big beak…I wonder if it’s a woodpecker?

Slowly I reached my hand toward it and immediately it fluttered, opened its beak and lunged toward me threateningly. I quickly pulled my hand back. (Confession: Lunge might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it definitely poked in my direction. I had a quick flashback to those raptors in Jurassic Park, expecting a loud rattling hiss to emerge from that little throat. I mean birds are related to dinosaurs, right? And that beak looked pretty large!)

Jurassic Park Dilophosaurus GIF

I regrouped and chided myself. Physical bravery has never been my forte, but this wee, soaking-wet, disheveled bird was clearly not going to injure me. Get a grip, Molly! Again, I looked down at it. The poor thing was clearly unable to move to safety and the rain continued to fall. Could its parents be waiting nearby? Should I move it into a tree?

Uncertain what to do, I went back inside and posted on a birding site that I’m a member of:

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After a few minutes of anxiously waiting for a response, I was relieved to see the advice finally start flowing. Many people immediately suggested leaving it alone. One charmer advised me to set the oven to 350 degrees. Multiple people suggested calling Avian Haven, a wild bird rehabilitation center, for help. Unfortunately, a quick call confirmed that they were closed for the evening.

One vocal poster opted to lecture me about having an outdoor cat in the first place. This led to a tangential fire storm of posts as people rebuked him for giving unsolicited, unrelated commentary and advice, and he responded by posting multiple articles about cats and how they devastate the environment. This roused the cat lovers. He then suggested that cat owners who let their cats outside were inhumane and irresponsible, just letting their vulnerable cats out to die somewhere, victims of wild animal attacks. I’m not quite clear what his point was–that cats are killers or that they will be killed. Maybe both? That thread got a little heated and out of control and by the following morning was removed by administrators. I steered clear.

Meanwhile, I focused on the sane portion of the post, trying to figure out what to do. The bird clearly was vulnerable where it was, but so often the experts say that people tend to intervene when they shouldn’t. Finally, after a bit of research on the Avian Haven site and the consensus on the posts, I posted the following, still uncertain this was the correct course:

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Shortly after posting that, I got a request to accept a private message. When I accepted it, I got this message.

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Change of plans. I wasn’t going to argue with an expert. I scrambled around the house assembling supplies, then quickly prepped a box. Dashing back out into the rain, I gently scooped up the fledgling, careful to avoid its beak. It struggled against my hands, but when I settled it on the soft towels in the box, it sat quite still. Clearly, this bird was shaken up. Poor little thing. I closed up the box and set it in the mudroom, crossing my fingers that I was doing the right thing and that the bird would make it until morning.

To be continued…

August 9, 2018 by mbhmaine

Poetry Friday is here!

unnamed Welcome to this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup! This is my first time hosting and I must say, when I signed up, August seemed so far away! Yikes! Holy Speeding Summer, Batman! Regardless, I’m simultaneously delighted to be here and desperately hoping that the link up works. If it does, it’s thanks to Catherine Flynn. (Thank you! Thank you, Catherine!) If it doesn’t…well, it’s my fault, but at least I’ll have something to write about on Tuesday for Slice of Life. On a related note, please attribute any typos in this post to multiple crossed fingers.

As August flies by and the school year rushes forward, I’ve been reflecting on my summer. One of the highlights has been participating in Tabatha Yeatt’s Summer Poetry Swap. In the past I’d always been a bit intimidated by the Poetry Swap posts that were shared. Frankly, I’m still intimidated, but I’ve also been highly motivated. Even though it’s not always comfortable, that might not be a bad combination. It’s certainly pushed me to be productive, and sometimes my efforts have sparked new ideas and multiple poems.

Recently, I was working on a swap poem and really struggling. Nothing seemed to fall into place. I kept writing, discarding, revising, whining (By the way, does a whine still count as a whine even if I’m the only one around to hear it?)…at any rate, you get the idea. I finally gave up on that poem and started from scratch, creating a wholly different one to send out. But the rejected poem had other ideas and kept nudging me to finish it. So, today I’m sharing the sonnet that refused to be rejected and that I’ve been tinkering with ever since. It’s driven me a bit mad, which is more than a bit ironic, but here it is.

The Solace of the Ocean: A Sonnet

When I feel overwhelmed and tempest-tossed
and crave perspective and serenity
when life feels like a battle I have lost
I take myself to wander by the sea

‘Midst drifts of fog or dazzling rays of sun
in dawn’s soft hues or evening’s golden glow
one breath and the enchantment has begun
allegro transforms to adagio

Susurrant surf or tossing, tumbling tide
The redolence of rose in briny air
Such wonders nudge my worries to the side
a heartfelt sigh escapes my lips like prayer

And slowly as I linger and explore
I feel myself become both less and more

Thanks for stopping by for this week’s Roundup. Don’t forget that bird lover and poet Christie Wyman at Wandering and Wondering has a challenge for next week. She’ll be hosting PF and on her post last week invited everyone to “fly along” and write a bird-related poem.

Please click below to link your Poetry Friday post.

August 7, 2018 by mbhmaine

After the rain…

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Have you ever seen the end of a rainbow? Do you know what you’ll find there? Well, it turns out that sometimes you’ll find my lilac bush entwined with a rogue grape vine.

But let me back up a little…

We’d been inside most of the day due to lowering skies, drizzling rain and occasional hiccups of thick downpours. The anticipated thunderstorms hadn’t arrived, but it had been a stormy stay-inside-and-~~clean-~~read kind of day. The skies seemed to be clearing, we’d just finished dinner, and I was itching to get out and move a bit.

“Hey, wanna go for a walk?” I asked my husband, Kurt.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied.

I left the room to get my shoes on and moments later heard him call out, “Whoa! Check out the rain!”

Oh, no, there goes our walk! I thought, then looked out the window. Sure enough, the rain was pouring down in sheets. The sun, however, had emerged from behind clouds in the western sky, and in its rays, the rain fell like liquid silver. We squinted, trying to look at it, dazzled by the combined brilliance of sun and rain.

“There must be a rainbow out there,” I declared, and I dashed outside into the rain, spinning around in the driveway, scanning the skies.

“Oh! ” I finally cried. “There is one! It’s gorgeous!”

Kurt came outside and we both stared at the intense rainbow forming over our house. It was simply stunning, the most vibrant rainbow I’ve ever seen. It practically pulsed with color, each hue vivid and distinct. I followed its arc over the house and then down, down, down….

“Oh, my gosh! Look!” I said, pointing. “You can see where the rainbow ends! It’s ending right in our yard!”

We both stared. Sure enough the arc of the rainbow came down directly through our grape-vine-covered lilac bush and ended on the grass below.

“That’s unbelievable,” I said. “I’ve never seen a rainbow’s end before.”

We stood, rapt, marveling at the sight.

Then, after a few moments, I added (typically), “I wonder if I can catch it in a picture.”

The rain had eased almost completely by now, so I dashed inside for my camera and rushed back out, quickly taking a few photos.

“Well,” Kurt announced casually as we headed down the driveway, “I know where I’m digging tomorrow!”

We laughed and together turned back to look at the dazzling rainbow over our house. Slowly, a second, faint rainbow formed, arching over the first. We stood in the driveway for long minutes. The rain stopped completely, the clouds parting to reveal brilliant patches of blue. Everything sparkled, bejeweled with raindrops. The rainbows lingered. Finally, we turned to go on our walk.

So, back to my original question: Do you know what you’ll find at the end of a rainbow? It turns out it’s not just my lilac bush and Concord grapes.

There’s treasure to be found.

August 2, 2018 by mbhmaine

More Poetry Swap Goodness!

unnamed As soon as I saw Linda Baie’s name on the package in my mailbox, I knew I was in for a treat, guaranteed that the contents of my second Poetry Swap would be both thoughtful and generous in spirit. And wow, was I right!

This was the beautiful homemade card and quote that greeted me when I opened my package. How perfect is that?

Then, in addition to the lovely card with its personal note, Linda gave me a small lined notebook, perfect for jotting down ideas, thoughts, and inspiration on the go. As if that weren’t enough, she selected a book of poetry for me, “The Time Traveler” by Joyce Carol Oates. I’m looking forward to diving into this further, but the first poem alone thrums with powerful word play and imagery. What a wonderful gift!

And finally, and best of all, Linda wrote me a beautiful, personal poem. She had clearly spent time wandering around my blog, considered my writing, both poetry and prose, to inspire her piece. I was deeply touched.

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Thank you so much, Linda, for your gift of poetry.

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the gracious and talented Mary Lee Hahn at her blog, A Year of Reading. Make sure to stop by to beat the dog days of summer and enjoy some refreshing poetry.

July 31, 2018 by mbhmaine

How Lovely Life Can Be

11454297503_e27946e4ff_h I sprawled on the chair in the family room, book in hand, feeling low-energy yet restless. From upstairs, a hum of voices floated down, punctuated by laughs and giggles. Addie and her friend, Kayla. Lydia was in her room, chatting online with her boyfriend. Kurt was at a meeting. Maybe we should go to the beach or do something, I thought idly. But I didn’t move.

A little bit later, Addie wandered downstairs and into the room. “Want to do something?”

“Well,” I said without much enthusiasm, “I was just thinking we could go down to the beach. It’s a little bit late, but it’s probably gonna be pretty down there.”

Addie floated the idea to Kayla and Lydia, and between the four of us we worked up some motivation and headed out. Half an hour later as we drove down the peninsula, we debated which part of the beach to visit. Should we go to the old fort where the seals sometimes fish and frolic? Or should we visit the state park portion where wide open expanses of beach invite long strolls?

“Well, I think it’s almost low tide, so we could walk out to Fox Island,” I suggested. “That could be fun. We haven’t done that in ages.”

“I don’t remember ever walking out to an island!” Lydia protested. Despite our detailed descriptions, she couldn’t remember it at all. That settled it. Fox Island it was.

We pulled into the lot and parked, opening the doors to temperatures in the high 60s and a lovely afternoon glow. We walked up the path over the dunes, and the beach unfolded before us. Fox Island lay directly ahead, the large sandy causeway clearly visible. Already the sun was heading down, spilling golden light upon the wet sand.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” I sighed.

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A few people wandered in the distance, silhouetted against sand or surf. Layers of mist obscured the shore line of islands and a distant light house. Over time, they drifted into the beach and then away again, veils hiding and revealing, in constant flux. Herring gulls strutted along the tide line, foraging, their reflections bright in the wet sand.

The girls and I meandered along the beach, stopping to snap pictures, gradually heading out to the island. As the sun slipped lower, the light shifted as we walked. At times it was so golden it felt surreal, at others cooler and toned with serene blues and greys.

We reached Fox Island and the girls climbed ahead onto the rocks. I stopped to watch them and to soak in the scene around me. Their voices and laughter drifted back in the cool air. The waves tumbled and crashed and the sun continued its slow golden descent. The mist shifted and skimmed over the sand. I closed my eyes briefly, etching it all into memory, fully content and deeply moved.

This beautiful place. These beautiful girls. This beautiful moment.

How lovely life can be.

On Fox Island

view from Fox Island

The golden hour

My girls tracking hermit crabs

July 26, 2018 by mbhmaine

Personification

I participated (translate this as: lurked and wrote privately) in Jennifer Serravallo’s Summer Writing Camp for teachers. If you haven’t checked it out yet, don’t worry! Camp ends tomorrow, but you can find all of the video sessions posted in the related group on Facebook (The Reading and Writing Strategies Community). Watching the videos and responding to the prompts is time well spent.

During the second week of camp, Jennifer focused on Poetry. On Day Two of that week the emphasis was on Strategy 7.4: Bringing Objects to Life. She suggested that you choose an everyday thing to bring to life. She advised choosing an animal or something that moves, then listing the verbs related to it. Next, she said to think of something similar that a person might do. Then work with these two lists to bring your object to life. (Go to Facebook and watch the video for a much clearer explanation!)
Here’s my response:

Tiny Tyrant

He marshals his troops
into rigid columns
One by one
never marking time
they march forward
Beat by beat
coming ever closer
until
at the precise
designated
hour…
they strike!
With one prolonged, rousing
BLAST
they rip their victim
from deepest sleep
to weary surrender

Alarm Clock Victory!

This week’s Poetry Friday Round-up is hosted by the warm, wonderful and wise Catherine Flynn at her blog, Reading to the Core. Be sure to stop by and visit!

July 20, 2018 by mbhmaine

Hollyhocks

unnamed I’ve been delighted by the hollyhocks in my garden this summer. Over the years, they have appeared in my garden intermittently, varying in height and color. In the spring I’m thrilled when I see those tell-tale leaves, anticipating the glory of the blooming flowers, thrusting high above the garden.

This summer the hummingbird visits the hollyhocks most mornings. It hovers before a blossom. Darts in. Retreats. Hovers again. It moves to a tightly furled blossom. Hovers. Moves on. Even though I know its wings move in figure 8 patterns, I can’t see them. Nor can I capture his rapid flight in a picture. I’ve stopped trying now and simply enjoy watching him. Sometimes his small body bumps into a blossom, dislodging golden pollen which falls into small piles, or tumbles down the blossom to drift through the air. When he flits to the other side of the plant, I watch his shadow through the delicate petals. I often think how lovely it must be to dine on nectar in dew-drenched pink blossoms on a summer morning!

In summer’s garden
Hollyhock buds purse pink lips
waiting for sun’s kiss

Under sun’s caress
Hollyhock petals unfurl
welcome hummingbirds

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Hollyhock’s Ambition

Hollyhock builds a ladder to the sky
Holding a star within each blossom
she creates a universe
for hummingbirds and bees

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This week Heidi Mordhorst is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup at her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. She’s sharing some fantastic poetic adventures in Chicago. Make sure to stop by for some great ideas and to enjoy links to more poetry!

July 17, 2018 by mbhmaine

Pause already, darn it!

11454297503_e27946e4ff_h As we walked along the trail, talking, a small pond appeared around the curve.

“Look, there’s a heron!” Kurt said to me, pointing across the water. Then he promptly followed up with, “Oh, we spooked it.”

I looked up quickly and saw large grey-blue wings beating low across the water, and immediately fumbled for my camera. I knew there was no way I was going to capture the picture in time, but hoped perhaps the heron would settle further along the shore. I grabbed the case, opened it and got my camera in my hand. Meanwhile, I glanced up… just in time to see those wings gliding away and out of sight. I stopped and watched the last few seconds, marveling at the size and power of the bird and at the beauty of its flight.

Oh, I should just have watched him fly, I thought.

I had been so busy trying to get the camera out, that I had missed it.

I love taking photographs, but lately it’s occurred to me that sometimes I get so caught up in the photo opportunities, that I forget to simply enjoy what’s around me.

Pause, Molly, I reminded myself.

The next morning I wandered down to the river park early to watch the sunrise. I took a few pictures, and after a while headed over to a spot by the railroad tracks. The tracks cross at the base of a river junction here, and you get a lovely vantage of both rivers. I was hoping to listen to the song sparrow again, as he tends to frequent this spot.

This morning as I climbed up, I heard a curious tapping sound. I walked over the tracks and looked down to the water and shore below. There I saw my new friend, the spotted sandpiper, whom I’d first encountered a few days earlier on the dock at the river park. It was bobbing along with its curious walk, pecking along the tidal shore line. I moved a bit closer to see what it was doing and …

Whoa! What’s that!? There, much closer to the tracks and me, was a… beaver? muskrat? I wasn’t sure which it was, but it was thoroughly enjoying a breakfast of greens. Its thick brown fur lay sleek along its sides and water droplets glistened along its back.

I struggled to remember the differences between muskrats and beavers. Obviously the tail is the easiest one, but this wily creature’s tail was hidden beneath the water. I know beavers are much larger, but how do you compare when you only have one species in front of you? It looked big to me, but…? I thought I remembered reading that muskrats weigh only about 4 pounds and this creature appeared to be many times that weight. I also had learned that when they swim, you can see much more of the muskrat’s back/body than the beaver’s. This one wasn’t swimming, but based on its size, I was pretty sure it was a beaver.

Thrilled, I took a few pictures and then suddenly it stopped eating, apparently just noticing me. It looked at me for a long moment, then turned and slipped into the water. Rats! I still couldn’t see its tail and now it was headed off for parts unknown. I walked along the tracks, hoping to see where it went. Trees and bushes interspersed along the edge of the track, hiding part of its progress.

Moving past a clump of trees, I spied it again. Wait! How much of its back is showing? Can I see its tail? There was a swirl of movement in the water. Wait! What? Two heads?? Whoa! There are two of them! They nudged up into each other gently and headed back into shallow water. Based on the size and their bodies in the water, I was now convinced they were beavers. Two beavers! I was so excited!

DSCN5207 (1).jpg And that’s when I made my mistake. Frustrated by intruding leaves that interfered with my focus, I tried to get closer. Moving slowly, camera in hand, I crept forward, determined to get a fantastic photo. Instead of simply watching and enjoying the wonder of the moment, this unexpected second encounter, I edged back along the tracks. In an instant, I knew I’d spooked them. They splashed off into the water and veered into two separate directions. There was no coming back this time.

I’m still kicking myself about this. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson from my experience with the heron. But no, clearly, I still have a lot to learn about being in the moment and not always looking to get a tangible “prize” to take away with me. Sigh. Obviously, I’m a work in progress.

DSCN5203 (1).jpg I stayed a bit longer and watched a flight of swallows gather in the trees along the river’s banks. The song sparrow added his song to the scene, and a red squirrel and a yellow warbler of some sort stopped by as well. The beavers did not return.

Pause. Look. Listen. Be.

Like I said, a work in progress.

Nix the comfort zone

Pushing my limits…writing, reading, photography, running, life…