Sunday, September 1, 2024

Summer's End

 


On the meteorological watch, seasons turned at precisely 12:00 am this morning.

 


As happened, this year’s summer ended not with a bang, but on the midnight whisper of an inexorably changing wind.

 


Unlike recent years past, we never reached full on drought status. The periodic downpours carried by occasionally tornadic storms saw to that.

 


Yet given the typically withering August sun, today we enter fall just on the edge of ‘abnormally dry’.

 


On those happy days when the heat and humidity weren’t too oppressive, I made a point of getting out and about.

 


As ever, the prairie and oak savanna landscape abides.

 


Often thrives.

 


Especially where we’ve since retreated…

 


…and let that inestimably rich natural environment do its splendidly diverse thing.

 


Long about the middle of August, I mentioned to a dear friend that when a changing wind finally broke the latest heat wave, I sensed the first hint of autumn on the northwesterly breeze.

I thought it kind of early for that, considering the world of green.

 


A week later, signs of seasonal change were in the trees.



And today, here we are.

 


As if there’d been a plan all along.

 



Thursday, August 8, 2024

Miscellany

 


A way of being present.



Even when seemingly not, otherwise.



People tend to believe the best photographic light occurs during ‘the Magic Hour’.

That’s the half hour prior to sunrise and the half hour after sunset. So not really an hour, unless you count them together at the end a long day. Beware conventional wisdom.

 


Because in this case that’s just universality talking. Which explains the ocean of glorious sunrise/sunset moments captured and held forever on all your phones.

 


As happens, on the occasion the world falls utterly still in the face of an oncoming storm, life draws a deep breath and sometimes holds it. However long.

And in that moment, light might be made uncommonly sublime.

 



 

Thursday, July 11, 2024

Shining Light on the Prairie – Wild Life, 2

 


When you’re done gazing into the liquid dark eyes so firmly locked on possible predator me, check out those ears.

Essentially, eyes in the back of her head. Aural variety sure, but no one’s sneaking up from behind on this one just the same. It struck me that this is exactly the type of physical/cognitive flexibility a creature born to be prey really needs, so to survive.

Hopefully humans, forever blinded by their riotous ingenuity, learn to adapt nearly as well.

 


Midsummer. Or, thereabouts.

I suppose there’re celestial, meteorological, climatological and/or faith-based notions to choose from, as regards the specific moment that summer’s officially half over.

Don’t care, as this summer feels a good half over to me.

 


It’s said spring is the season of rebirth and probably this last is when that downright charmer of a deer up there was born. But not every species enjoys such a long runway to maturity.

Those who don’t take full on advantage of high summer, so to get done what needs be done before autumn sets in and the cruel season close behind.

 



Intermittent downpours meant I finally found some reasonably photogenic fungi.



What with semi-regularly persistent drought as well, it's been almost two years since I scored so well.




And who the hell knew fungi had teeth? Chalk it up to the times.

 


During summer, everybody eats.

 


And bounty to choose from often stands out for the taking.

 


They say Well begun is half done.

 


Get it while you can, say others.

 


Or, time’s short.

It all depends on how one's equipped to see the world, I suppose.

 


Damned relativity.

Monday, May 27, 2024

Shining Light on the Prairie - Wild Life



Went land looking last week. Knew what to expect, in general terms.

Green. Green. More green. That and cicadas. Literally tons of cicadas, all told.



The problem with late spring is that it’s essentially summer, lite.

Spring blooms so rightfully celebrated are all but finished until next year, while summer’s many highlights are still pending. There are, of course, happy exceptions.

 


But typically, to spy most anything remotely singular, one must look through the fresh sea of green rather than at it. That way, hints of life’s amazing diversity obscured until autumn’s hard fall again reveals all, might be seen.

Happily, my late life macro interests remind me how as a child I routinely spotted wild life that others beside me missed.

 

 

Turns out I’d not forgotten, merely neglected.

 


Old knowledge does indeed die hard.

 


For instance, I’m pretty sure this is a Dekay’s Brownsnake. Can’t guess the last time I saw one. Decades for sure, as they’re quite shy and basically nocturnal.

Lest the macro image disorient perspective, my little finger’s bigger 'round than that littler snake taking sun while curled up on a leaf…

 


Then poof, it was gone. Faster even than spring.

 


Speaking of decades, in the end I wandered a spot I’d not been since at least half a century prior. Then, the place was honeycombed by human trails cut through deeply congested acres upon acres of old oak choked by truly pernicious buckthorn that ran roughshod near a river not infrequently used as a sewer.

Stinkin' invasives.

Today these woods are largely a trailless stand of mixed trees, with a steadily rebounding river running through it and a reasonably sparse but exceptionally messy understory to better match its native character. It'd have to be mighty dry, to not be wet.

There being no ready sign of civilization, I found a well-trod deer path and followed that.

 


The muddy way was filthy with tracks. Multiple deer, of course. Also racoon and maybe possum. An array of canine and given I spotted but one other boot track, I presume mostly coyote rather than adventurous dog walkers. In any event, all manner of wild life traversed the wet woods there.

It was good to wander off trail. I’d been absent far too long.

 

 

Since I was on a deer path, it was no real surprise to either of us when I stumbled across a deer. I spotted her in my peripheral vision upon approach. Certainly, she’d heard me coming for a long way and chose not to bolt.

 


I stopped. Instinctively assumed a passive posture. Offered a few soft words. Proceeded to take full advantage of the opportunity presented.

After a short visit I moved on. By then she’d returned to paying me no mind in the whole wild world. Which is only as it should be.

 


As it must be for all of us going forward, in every way we can manage, so for all of wonderous life to not stagger forward in pieces, but rather thrive anew as an organic whole.

Meanwhile, on the cusp of meteorological summer, I say here's to the seasonal safety found in lush green obscurity.

When, where, how and why everyone annually feasts.

 




Monday, April 22, 2024