PSA

The song of the white throated sparrow

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The crystal clear notes
of a white throated sparrow
floated down through the trees today.
And then a mile further up the trail, another.
The first songs to come my way
in the spring forest.

I like winter
when white covers the earth.
I like summer
when the woods are green and warm.
But I love the wild forest
when things are changing.

Now, the first week of spring.
Still, some patches of snow linger
in the shade under the big trees.
The air warms then cools then warms
in the bright sun.
Trees with swollen buds, waiting.
The first birds are back.
Their songs celebrate what is
about to come.

We humans know four seasons.
I wonder how many seasons
the inhabitants of these woods know.
Maybe fifty-two.
Maybe each week is a new season
for those who go about their routine
deep in the woods.

The long, hard winter is over.
New life will soon fill these woods.
A flood of green, bird song, wildflowers.
And the white throated sparrow
sings its song anticipating
the change to come

–Rodrick W. MacIver in this week’s Pause for Beauty

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From the field, In the new neighborhood, Seasons, Whatever

Carousel

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The Carousel at Asbury Park

Today was daffodil day in this part of NJ… and the forsythia has plans.

Spring almost!

An interesting day in the field with clients… I saw the spoon man (how many of you can say you know someone who collects wooden spoons?!?), plus I got a kiss on the cheek from the sweetest little old Italian lady.

😉

(There are rare days when I think I have the best job in the whole-wide world.)

Bunnies, Snapshots, Whatever

Zen thoughts with bunnies

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The master in the art of living
Makes little distinction between his work and his play,
His labor and his leisure,
His mind and his body,
His education and his recreation,
His love and his religion.
He hardly knows which is which.
He simply persues his vision of excellence in whatever he does,
Leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing.
To him he is always doing both.
–Zen Buddhist Text
Birds, In the neighborhood, Seasons

Things unseen

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I’ve no idea how far I walked in the fog today, but long enough that by the time I was back at the parking lot my hair fell wet in ringlets, sticky with salt. The fog had obliterated any landmarks along the beach and it was only my vague sense that hours had passed that caused me to turn back. This was no sunny, invigorating winter beach; it felt neither wide nor expansive. There was no winking promise of spring in the air, either. White-bellied gulls appeared out of the nothingness ahead and the only sound was that of the waves churning the sand.

The edges of things: the shoreline and the horizon were all so soft with the fog that my camera mostly refused to focus. It was pleasant to imagine nothing beyond the couple hundred feet I was able to see ahead of me. Out of the salty haze I finally spotted what I’d come looking for; back for a week or two, a lone piping plover fed along the wrack line at the very limits of my imagination. The harder I tried to see it, the faster it ran and blended into nothingness.

Poof! Gone.

A couple hundred steps ahead and I’d spot it again for an instant, this time running crosswise to me in the dry sand, blending into a driftwood and clam shell background. In and out of my awareness, I think it must have accompanied me quite far, just out of clear view, a bit of fog drifted sand on still winter-black legs. These birds are hard to spot on a clear day even when they’re running; their markings blend so expertly with drift sticks and sand. I like to meet them for the year on this type of day, for whatever reason, when the hot sun and crowds of a June day seem an impossibility.

Whatever

Line 73a

8 Comments

Amount of line 72 you want refunded to you.

Are they kidding???

😉

Nevermind… I don’t want that money back. You just keep it.

Anything about this yearly ritual that makes you howl with laughter?

In the new neighborhood, Snapshots

Tuesday reflected

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Early spring at the boardwalk, Asbury Park

It was vaguely above freezing today so I wandered to the boardwalk to see what I could see and found this, much to my delight! Another reflection shot; this one from the window of an art gallery that’s new to the boardwalk. It’s a crazy juxtaposition, I know, but the ocean and boardwalk benches (and a trash can!) are there reflected among a photo montage of some familiar icons… the casino, the carousel and the convention center where Bruce has been practising the last couple nights.

Birds, In the neighborhood

Skywards

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“It is a most beautiful spectacle although often difficult for us to observe. After catching a fish, the male gains height as he returns to the nesting area and while still several kilometres away he starts his display. To me the display call is very distinctive; it’s a high-pitched ‘pee-pee-pee-pee…pee’ and if I search the skies I will see him soaring majestically, maybe a thousand feet above, as he moves in sweeping circles closer and closer to the nesting site. He climbs several hundred feet upwards with rapidly beating wings, then hovering briefly, with fanned tail, he performs a breathtaking dive showing the fish grasped in outstretched talons. He pulls out of the dive and powers sky-wards to repeat the performance. All the time his calling can be heard by his mate and finally his last stoop takes him in a long power dive right to the eyrie, where the fish is presented to his mate.”

(Ospreys, by Roy Dennis, Colin Baxter Photography Ltd, 1991, p13)

There’s no sweeter sound in late March than an amorous Osprey, save perhaps, the lonely peeplo calls of Piping Plovers. To those of us who love the shore and its birds and who miss them for the months of their absence, both are enough to bring tears to our eyes.

There was a bit of female rivalry taking place at this northernmost nest on Sandy Hook yesterday. A female interloper repeatedly interrupted the male’s courtship flight… whether to steal the fish he meant to present to his mate below or perhaps to steal him away from her.

😉

Click on the pic for a slightly more satisying view. Can anyone name the channel marker thingy for me?

From the field

Tell me what you really think

17 Comments

Hm. In the last week at work, I’ve been told the following:

“That is none of your business and you really need to learn your place.”

and

“I feel really sorry for you that you hate being a social worker so much that you have to be so rude. You should find a new profession. In fact, I’ll suggest that to your supervisor, too.”

and

“Your caseload must be really high that it takes you a whole day to return my phone call. Maybe you need an assistant.”

That last one, finally, hits the truth.

I do need an assistant to return ridiculous phone calls for me, soothe the nerves of needy clients and do all the godforsaken paperwork that justifies my seat at this desk. All that crap handled by someone else and out of my way, I’ll have plenty of time to:

Tell them only what they want to hear

and

Do all the stuff they seem to think is my responsibility, rather than doing a thing for themselves.

Heaven forbid!

I’ve been at this far too long to be as surprised as I am by the hostility flung my way on a daily basis. I guess I’m just surprised that I’m surprised anymore.

Is it Friday yet?

Just me rambling about birds, books, bunnies, or whatever!