The rarified ambience of an early summer evening.
The cumulus clouds that slowly move in the light blue sky.
The sun that sits in a corner of the sky like a dying campfire.
The special quality of the pre-sunset sunlight that illuminates the top of the trees.
The muted respectful staccato of the American robin and the low peaceful flute of the mourning dove.
The gentle breeze that blows the leaves and introduces a cooling air.
The sweet peas; the sweet peace; the sweet peas!
Baxter the bunny was only a few feet away from me leisurely munching on dandelion leaves in my back garden.
I spoke to him like Alec in the Black Stallion speaks to the horse; hoping to say something witty and charming in rabbit.
He looked at me head on and only rotated his long ears to hear the sound of birds or dogs.
At one point, he stood up on his hind legs; at another, he stretched his back.
All the while, he continued to enjoy his dandelion leaves. They disappeared efficiently into his mouth, regardless of the size of the leaves.
I felt honoured and privileged to share that time with him. He wasn’t scared of me and I was happy for that.
P.S. Rabbit in Persian translates to “donkey ears.” Sorry Baxter, it fits!
There were buttercups everywhere. The robins were dancing in them. And I was on a ten kilometre bike ride–great stress relief.
Along the trail there were homemade bird feeders. One of them looked like a Tiki hut. I was delighted and inspired.
Is there anything more relaxing than to sit by the willow trees and watch the barn swallows swoop down by the gently rippling water?
I don’t think so.
The American robin is the town crier. He announces the descending of the night.
He sings incessantly, sincerely, melodiously. He sings from the bottom of his heart.
All of a sudden, the meandering grey clouds slowly reveal the bright fingernail of a moon suspended over the darkened treetops.
The ringmaster, flicker, was not available to start the show.
All of a sudden, there were at least half a dozen squirrels, maybe more, racing through the treetops. Flying through the branches without a trapeze.
They were either playing or fighting; I’m not sure which. And when it was all over, I wasn’t sure whether to clap, laugh, or tell them to behave themselves.
There is a mallard duck that has a nest in the dense flowery growth of our garden.
As a result, we have gone out and bought a manual lawnmower, (so as not to disturb her).
I’m taking exquisite pride in using it; like a grandmother tiptoeing around a baby sleeping in a nursery.
I’d have to say my favourite bird song is the chickadee’s “fee bee, fee bee.”
There is something about the touching simplicity of it that goes straight to the soul.
There is also the exquisite beauty of the cardinal’s rapturous song and I’ve heard that the nightingale is not bad….
The northern flicker showed up in the vegetable garden when I went to refill my watering can.
With his festive attire of grey hat with a beautiful splash of red in the back; speckled waistcoat and jacket and black cravat; I picture the northern flicker as the ringleader of a bird circus.
He is a very jolly bird to see first thing in the morning and for that I am grateful.
I saw a male cardinal feeding his wife a piece of suet that he found this morning for breakfast. And I saw a common grackle taking a piece of suet to the bird bath and eating it with water. He thought, “I don’t know what this junk is, but it is likely to get stuck in my throat and kill me if I don’t wash it down with water.”
The male cardinal wins for ‘best husband’ and the common grackle wins for ‘smartest bird I saw this morning’.