Monday, June 02, 2014
The slide into summer is neither slippery nor exciting. It happens quietly like a gentle warm breeze coming across the river or the move of a slow snake from under the wood pile. It is still early and the birds continue to sing their love songs, the bugs remain to buzz along their trails, but the air is just a little heavier and we now are moving into the season of the hot colored flowers. The oranges, the reds, the deep pinks unfold as if waking and removing a heavy green quilt which had hidden their beauty.
I am cautious and always checking the morning air for that familiar wet blanket feel that means by afternoon I will be hiding inside. But at this day's end there is still time for me to take the photos of the first blooms from annuals and perennials and I spend time looking and snapping to capture photos and then transfer them to digital paintings.
This afternoon I looked up from the camera to see a medium brown rabbit making a wild and mad dash to the edge of the lawn racing like a sprinter toward an unseen hole at the base of my plastic deer fence to disappear into the deep green wild raspberry bushes and rapidly growing invasive vines from poison ivy to trumpet vine to that tough green briar vine. He was making small barely audible grunting sounds and totally disappeared into the green tangle. This was not his usual behavior. Usually he sat very still until he saw me coming toward him to discourage any eating of the infant zinnias, the stalked sunflowers and the new buds of my roses. I would be almost on top of him before he broke his statuesque stance and ran to hide.
Within one second of his disappearance into the dark green shadows I saw another movement above me out of the corner of my eye. A red shouldered hawk gliding toward me and arriving just a few feet above my head from across my yard. He passed over so elegantly belying that he had missed his furry dinner. His wings were totally silent, not even a whisper of air as he cruised so close and he also was making a small squeaking sound that I only heard when he was just above me before he veered off into the opening at the edge of the woods. Was it "Damn, damn, damn!"
Had I been inside listening to the evening news or cooking dinner, I would have missed this little drama. No photos, but now I have the images forever in my mind.