Film at 11. Haha. Just kidding. This is my first time catching the little fellow. There were actually three, they were swooping and a lot of activity last night. I have to figure out how to keep all three happy now. Not an easy task for this novice ornithologist. I learned how they chatter, or sing, or whatever you’d call it.
I’ve set up my petunias, my columbine. I’ve seen three hummingbirds in the short amount of time I dwell out of doors. Still have yet to capture them photographically. Patience and Time.
The perfect day for a walk to my self-dubbed bird sanctuary–the dike, the abandoned railroad tracks. Yes I found a few birds. I heard some, too. I cannot find the bird in my field guide. Similar to the red wing blackbird, but the wing color shape all wrong. No picture, they aren’t still enough for me (yet). But, walking along the river I made some beautiful discoveries.
Walking on the overgrown tracks, I spied homespun bird houses
Somehow, I felt closer to the spirit of Henry David Thoreau.
Nature can bring peace to the soul, if we give it a chance.
I decided to rise from my slumbering mode this morning to enjoy the morning air! My morning writing, consisting of a handwritten letter to my daughter, needed posting, and I decided to walk it over. I could have waited, yes, but I’m glad I didn’t.
I don’t know what I like more, the beauty of nature or her sounds. I’m grateful I can take advantage of both!
I sit this morning on my porch, the Robin sings (he’s the only one I really can remember, and the only one brave enough to hop across my lawn)–oh wait! I just heard the cardinal (but he eludes my vision).
It’s like eating breakfast with Ralph Waldo!
The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.
He sings his song
I love his song
“I love you!” I cry.
“I am not a pet,” says he,
“My song is enough.”
Baby steps. Baby steps. And I received this in an email from Cornell. Enjoy!
It’s all we have!