marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,
marycatelli
marycatelli

wings and summer

It rained. It rained soundly. And the plants I have been so dutifully watering every day sprung up and grew like crazy, because an inch and a half of rain is a lot more water than a good watering.

A hawk swoops over a row of cars, so low as to barely fly over their roofs, and up to a streetlight where it perches. A few minutes later, a songbird perches on the streetlight as well -- only to swiftly swoop back to the trees.

The aster I planted started to blossom in July. The one that is steadily growing up from seed of last year's has yet to put out its buds.

In the island between the two lanes, on the grass, a hawk crouches, its wings outstreched, its eye fiercely glaring at a passing cars. It looks like nothing so much as a landed moth.

A baby rabbit, nibbling away at the clover in the lawn, is so small that only its ears are clearly visible.

A hawk's lazy flight over the road, lower than a car's roof, showed off its back, patterned here with brown and white and there with black and brown, so flecked it seemed that no two feathers were the same color.

What a misty sunset. You can tell where it is blue, and pink, and peach, but a desaturated shade of each, almost brownish in shade.

At the peak of the eclipse, the view from the window, where sun and shadow are dappled on a tree, is very odd, because the sun and shadow are still clear and distinct, but just dimmer than they have any right to be.

A raptor perched on a dead branch, its brown back (a bit mottled) toward me, its beak toward the woods. It's not so low that I could reach it, but I could if I had a stick not even as tall as I am. Curiosity wins and I walk close to see -- aided by the way it turns its head -- that it is a hawk and not an owl.
Tags: nature
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