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Free Stu Scheller!
When Jinx and I stepped outside Sunday morning into the mist, I saw a funnel spider’s web in the grass. It was one of the larger ones I’ve seen in a while, big as a plate and perfectly situated. I knelt down as best I could in the grass and examined the structure. How many hours did it take to build? How successful was it in trapping food for its builder? All those little struts and girders and beams and buttresses and studs and strips and joists…all from the body of the one who erected it and then retreated back into the funnel to await that trembling signal of live…
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The Last Monday of Summer
The light was eerie this morning, filtered through a mist that seemed lighter yet more substantial than usual. As Jinx and I patrolled the high ridges and scanned for deer, it was as silent as a shepherd’s crook. The moon was hidden by clouds, but I could sense its power and presence behind the vapor veil, and was reminded that the full moon will be upon us tonight. A corridor of high tulip poplars lines our driveway, and a hoot owl was perched somewhere in them this morning in the darkness. He called his mournful Morse code into the new morning — whoo, whoo, whoo-whooooooo — and I thought of…
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Full Moon Across the Field
The almanac tells me that the hummingbirds will begin their annual southward migration this Tuesday. This starts of course in the northern climes where the air begins to cool earlier, and works it way south. We should have a few more weeks to enjoy the little wonders. A little female whom I’ve named Missy has been very busy at the feeder next to our back porch. She defends her turf with ferocity, and when she perches, she drinks deeply and deliberately. Then she zooms off to the woods where I presume her nest is hidden. What I wouldn’t give to be able to peek inside and see the little Tic…
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The Ides of March
“Beware the Ides of March!” I said that today at my office, and one of my coworkers, who has a college education, asked me what I was talking about. “You know, from Julius Caesar? The day he got turned into a pincushion by the Senate?” She frowned as if I had asked her for money. “Who?” “Never mind.” And as I do so often, I turned away. I can’t wait until Wednesday. “Saint Who?” A week ago, the migration of hummingbirds back to these climes began. This evening, I was sitting in our office here at home, gazing out the door at Jinx, when something bulleted past. There was a…
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One Warm Day
Ice is forecast for Thursday, but for now, the pleasant respite of warm air has settled upon these mountains. Snow is a memory, the birds are a painted and scurrying mob, the clouds have fled, the honeysuckle almost looks green, the waterfall sounds like artillery, Jinx resents every minute spent indoors, the crape myrtle and the snowball bush keep pestering me to prune them, and the furnace has enjoyed a small rest. One warm day is a luxurious stretch of the limbs of the soul. But it will be spring soon enough, and the noisy, insectified summer will follow, and who will stretch whom then? I am forever tugged between…
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Summer’s Last Exhale
Summer’s Last Exhale How it shifts in a flash, the sun’s face bled to the edge of anemia, and I can stand under its living stare and not wither. Half a fortnight ago and just clipping shrubs would see my shirt soaked with salty sweat, but now my toes are numb and all has moved winterward. Jinx the fake heeler sits hard by my feet, spots like bullet holes along his flank, and I wonder what arcane and occult runes I might discover if I connected them in a certain way, perhaps using my sinister hand? At least I wouldn’t have to fear immolation as a witch, because witches have…
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Nineteen
Nineteen I am standing, I am watching on the strait of southern grass through which the fickle current of fogs undulates in the early part of day before the skyfire lifts enough to sear it off. I do not notice the hawks above until I see my dog’s muzzle tracking them; the most sky-aware dog I’ve ever seen, heart all witched with things that glide and soar and perch and sing. We move along and bees begin their sorties across our path, seeking the remaining sweetpea and Rose of Sharon, saddlebags packed with gold, hourglass ever before them as they try and outfly the time when frost will sheet their…
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Summer Song
The American calendar tells me it’s Father’s Day, and also that it’s the second day of summer (I rather like Bruce Charlton’s view on the timing of the seasons). I’m not clear on how many churches have resumed holding public worship services, but for those who are open for bidness today, I’m sure Father’s Day sermons will follow the time-honored American tradition of devoting most of the message to telling the fathers what inept doofuses they are, challenging them to man up, and lashing them with pronouncements about what husbandly headship and wifely submission do NOT mean. For years, I’ve wondered why any father would willingly attend these services, knowing…
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The Beginning Of March
The coffee tasted especially good this morning; my wife found a new variety at a local store and it is now a favorite. I stepped outside to clip my fingernails, careful to keep the sun behind me as it slashed across the needle points and glass shards of frost on the grass. While I was about my business, I listened to the birds calling to each other across the hollers. Are the back-and-forth songs merely a “Hello! How are you this morning?” or are they a communication of important information, the inflection and tone and volume carrying nuances that only an avian heart can catch and decipher? The feeders were…
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Sands, Running
We’ve had a respite from the August heat for a few days. This past weekend, it was so chilly in the mornings and evenings, I had to put on a light jacket in order to sit outside comfortably. This coming weekend is supposed to be more typical of late August, with temperatures back up in the mid-to-high 80s. But the sphere is tilting and the sands are running through the narrow neck, and the effects, while slight, are most definitely there. The crickets keep up a steady chorus. The little things that migrate are extra-busy, flitting and feeding constantly. The leaves are applying their grown-up makeup. The late afternoon sun…