WEEKEND POST 141

From the Author

Snapped this photo waiting in a roadwork queue on the way home from Virginia the other week. One of those mornings you could darn near wring the humidity from the thick, still air.

I can almost feel that radiating heat all over again just looking at it.

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WEEKEND POST 140

From the Author

Any fun plans for the weekend? Here, a continuous August downpour means the yard is springing up at a prodigious rate. We really should mow the “field” + have a go at the weeds (wearing gloves for this demon apparently), but there’s that rain again

With two weeks on the road in separate directions on the horizon for me, shutting in for a slowdown — or at least as much of one as I’m capable of — will be welcome. That, and soup.

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WEEKEND POST 138

From the Author

There’s something to this sit spot concept. Basically, find a piece of nature nearby that you can regularly return to — preferably close to dawn or dusk when it’ll be just you — and then: sit. Be still, but use your senses to take in and better understand the surroundings and wildlife without being a disturbing presence. I like to think of it as a quiet adventure. An almost meditative ritual that always puts me in a laid back mood.

In our backyard, the formally dressed eastern kingbirds flutter around me at sunset, chattering and chasing off a mourning dove pair, a blue jay, the fig-hungry mockingbirds who dare perch in their sit spots in the pear and sumac. Further afield, our osprey couple continues the confusing fortification of two separate nests. On a particularly calm evening this week 30 minutes slipped by watching the male deftly swoop into the neighbor’s tree, break off dead branches, some nearing three feet, and work each into the nests. I could actually hear his wing beats and the snapping of wood. Instant calm.

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WEEKEND POST 137

From the Author

Nothing like that temperature and humidity drop after the heavens open and hammer down upon us. No more going outside first thing in the morning and taking a deep breath of water. No more red-face and sweat stains from a sixty-pace stroll to fetch the mail. 

And, lamentably, after the especially punishing torrent last Sunday, no more osprey nest.

My heart broke when I checked in the next morning to find their new nest dangling, in shreds, from a branch several feet lower. Having returned yesterday evening from a week away for work, the ospreys are still flying around and the wrecked nest still hangs on, but it’s tough to tell whether they’ll try to repair it. Or even where they’re staying at the moment. The old nest? An Aeriebnb nearby? Back to the binoculars for me…

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