Wild white roses stand in bushes by the roadside, surrounded by grasses and daisies in full white bloom.
A bear ambles up a slope -- nothing more than a blotch of brown fur at that distance, but too large to be anything else.
In the midst of a field, trees stand like leafy poles, with green leaves growing from lower on the tree without the boughs of trees that grew up solitary in a meadow.
A delicate carpet within the forest, where every inch of the forest floor is covered with little ferns in pale and dainty green.
A dingy black bird, sitting on the curb, tilts its head just so, and the iridiscence makes its neck a solid mass of bright blue.
After torrents of rain, mushrooms sprout in masses in the garden. In masses so large in that in one place, they are pushing up out of the ground a flower planted there.
At zoo, on the artificial cliff, the leopard lies about in the heat. Paws and tails twitching now and again. Two little foxes, colored grays and browns, sleep in the corner of the cage, looking innocent and sweet. A zoo-goer comments on the flamingo -- no, that's not right -- which was true, it was in fact a scarlet ibis. A monkey climbs up on a tree, and out onto a swing there. Then it climbs back.
The roadside is filled with yellow hopclover and pink clover. A bright yellow and black oriole flits among them, perching on the stalks.
Bee balm's scent is roused -- more herbal than sweet -- by watering it.
Ah, microclimates. The loosestrife in the southwest corner of the garden blooms weeks before that in the eastern side, in the shadow of the townhouse. The later bloomer is taller, though; the early one is just barely my height, and the other looms. The bumblebees like them both, almost as much as the coneflowers
The sky still blue, however darkly -- indeed, behind the trees, it still shows signs of yellow -- and the crescent moon and a single evening star hang in it, golden.
A lake third-quarters filled up with lily pads, jammed together and with parts lifted up -- and you can not tell whether they are abloom, because the sunlight glances off, brilliantly and almost blindingly white.
A rainbow among the clouds, very short and pale, just above where the sun set -- and it can not be a sundog, because it arches like a rainbow, with the red out on the outside.
Down to the seashore and along the walking trail. When I first get out of the car, I smell the "sea" -- mostly the fishy smell -- and a bit later, I think my nose inured (still smelling the sea, but not so strongly), yet at one point I smell it as strongly again. Along the way, just strides from where the beach begins, it can be impossible to see. Sometimes when the sand dunes, all thickly covered with plants, vines and brambles and a red-berried bush (bearberry, perhaps), grasses here and there, and white yarrow the same, or a pink flower with feathery leaves and a flower head like a hop clover, with petals looking globular; often a gangly purple wildflower that reminds me of thistle and may be spotted knapweed; rugosa roses with hot pink flowers (or sometimes white) and still more rose hips, sometimes a fiery red, sometimes an orange ripening toward it, but mostly every shade of golden from the palest to the most vivid -- but also when the shrubs and trees grow. Sumac here and there, and the junipers and pines may be stunted and often have dead boughs, but they can completely block the view. Not always, sometimes I can see the choppy sea beyond. And to the other hand, away from the shore, in places the marsh spreads. Grass in shades of green and yellow -- with spreads of open water that can sometimes be seen -- and it takes a while, but I pick out that the greener and higher grass marks the channels. And a snow-white wading bird stand in there, far brighter than the white posts there, probably an egret; it flies off, and lands again, and another one also flits about. At the nature center, they have a butterfly garden, and far more flowers than grow wild: coreopsis, bee balm, phlox, lilies, coneflowers, milkweed.