Evening Star Rain Lilies (Cooperia drummondii)
It actually rained here last week. Free water fell from the sky. Now, these starlike beauties have appeared everywhere. I stopped on my bike ride to photograph a few to ID, and was pleasantly surprised to discover their starry name.
evening-star rain lilies
along the trailside
a blanket
for a few more
cool nights
Purple Coneflower (Echinacea purpurea) at The Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center
(click images to enlarge)
this backyard wildlife…
a congregation awake
discovering spring
≈
a new mourning dove
on the fence by the feeder
studies the others
≈
young squirrels—
so much thinner
than the adults
≈
a new family
house sparrows chirping
the busy backyard
≈
six house finches
learning the hummingbird feeder
sun-sparks in water
≈
fledgling goldfinches
flap inexperienced wings
on Easter morning
—
This weekend, we were treated to families of lesser goldfinches, house finches, house sparrows, mourning doves and fox squirrels coming around the backyard so the adults could show their young where to find the food. The juveniles were clearly just out of their respective nests as they were following the adults around flapping their wings and chirping to be fed. It’s never long before the babies figure out how to find food on their own at which point they will be indistinguishable from the adults.
I’ve seen this in the backyard with black-crested titmice, common grackles, mockingbirds, cardinals, Carolina chickadees, and Bewick’s wrens, and it’s one of the joys of feeding birds (and squirrels) but I’ve never seen so many at once. It was, quite simply, stunning and humbling. Songbirds don’t live long and most don’t even make it through their first year, but I like to think that at least some of these birds will be out there for a while, maybe waiting for me to count them one day down along the pond trail.
—
Publication announcement: My haibun “The Grackle Tree” from my Birds Nobody Loves series is in the latest issue of the ‘zine Nothing. No One. Nowhere. Thanks to the editors for publishing it along with so many other wonderful poets. It’s an honor to be included.
The hawk is an acrobat and an impostor—
he flies with vultures and when he banks
his lighter plumage blazes in the sun,
betraying him to anyone down below with
eyes to see and secrets to conceal. The butcher
hides in plain sight among the forensics birds;
it’s a good procedural crime drama. I search
the woods for evidence, but these guys
are too good, too thorough, and I wonder
how I stumbled into this perfect scheme.
Dusk ripples
across the pond.
A great blue heron
stalks sunlight
along the reeds.
He snags a fish,
turtle-sized,
from the water.
He flips and swallows
the fish, which falls
down his gullet
like a rabbit
through a snake.
His neck straightens;
the fish is gone.
He shadows dark
along the shore.
Don’t you wonder
if that fish
ever believed
in herons?
—
This post in included in I and the Bird # 149 over at Twin Cities Naturalist. Sadly, this looks to be the last edition of I and the Bird. I’ve been participating off-and-on for 5 years and even hosted it once. Sad to see it go…
