marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,

sliding into summer

The maple leaves are growing, and growing, so that with the seeds, not yet flown, hanging down in red, and the leaves expanding in green, it looks particolored as a jester.

Ah, the dogwoods.  Some as bright a pink as cotton candy, others as pure a white as swan's wings.

How odd a crane looks, flying.  I think it's that the dangling legs make it look like a goose, flying backwards.

The scents of spring -- a muggy, heated day, but the breeze bears not only a break, but the sweetness, and so does the breeze on a dreary, chill, cloudy day.

Sunlight and cloud over the hills, so that it looks like squares of green alternating dark and pale over them in a very odd chessboard.

A squirrel scrambling along a stone wall, comes to a gap, and leaps across in a graceful arc.

The leaves are growing.  The waterfall starts to be muffled in green, but the light still glows through the red maple leaves and makes the whole tree glow like a ruby

Daisies and grass beside the road while the sunlight slants over them are an interplay of brightness and shadow in a small compass.

A dogwood, with light shining through the leaves, turns its flowers into pink as gleaming as a sunset -- no, more gleaming that most -- only a half-cloudy sunset with light pulled over the sky looks so pink.

A part of the stream must be shallow, for three crows hopped along in it, flapping their wings, splashing themselves with water all over.  

Attack of the robins.  Two lunged across the street, flying no higher than my  knee, to tussle with a third, and when it drew off, another came by and the twosome lunged at it, too.

Two squirrels still as statues, one perched on the roots.stretched out as if in mid run, another standing on its hind legs, its white belly making it kinda conspicious.  But I walk by and look over my shoulder, and so see the standing one drop down and the other hurry after.

A little bird, its head and folded wings perfectly smooth, its back and wings a pale, even gray, its belly white, as quiet as a nun, waded through the water, keeping itself perfectly level except when it eyed something and dipped its beak for it.

Goslings -- great thumping creatures, all fuzzy, looking less ugly than most goslings, which generally look the color of dirty dishwater.  These are a yellowy beige -- not a pretty color, but not an active ugly one.

Small fish floating in the water, looking only like dark, smooth ovals from the bridge.  In the channel, they must be using their fins to keep so still against the current, but they don't look it at all.

A pair of rosy mourning doves.  Not their wings, to be sure, which were brownish still, but their heads and their breasts were an orange pinkish shade, like some roses, or some sunsets, thought not as pure and saturated a color.  Then, I have seen pink doves about here, with the same pattern, and they, too, were not a pure and saturated color but more ashes of roses.

A single bird can not be a mob, yet I have seen, more than one, a single bird mobbing a crow, the crow itself flapping off in resignation as the smaller bird swooped and dived about it.

The air as full of a fluff white puffs as if it were snowfall, but the sky is blue because it's a tree letting loose its seeds in a snowsquall.  There are flurries all about, and often the seeds clump in corners.

A cloud towering in palest white, foaming as it rose more intricately than the leaves of a tree -- and half way across it, the streak of a charcoal gray cloud, long and drawn and straight and featurless.

Ah, the roses, the roses, the air scented as sweetly as a perfumer's -- or perhaps more sweetly, since it was all rose.  Bees bumbling about.  When I think of a rosy red, I think of a red just with an empurpled touch, like a blood red has touches of orange, but there were roses like a sunset there, all pink and orangle mingled to a bright, gorgeous shade.

How scooped out the woods look.  They took down trees with enthusiasm, after what the snowstorm did, and even with the trees in full leaf, you can still see into the thick of the forest, where the branches had not grown for the lack of light, and all the trees that did have light have gone.

Geese among the grass, their heads bowed, their backs brown -- it takes a minute and motion to see how fuzzy some of them are, and how their heads are still a downy brown -- their nearly full grown size helps confuse that they are goslings still.

Tags: nature

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