Wednesday September 01, 2010

Dave Bonta September 1, 2010

A goldfinch gone green lands among walnut leaves that have gone yellow. Below, a juvenile red-bellied woodpecker, nape turning orange.

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Cool and clear. A so-called white admiral butterfly lands on the other chair, with all the black and electric blue allure of a velvet Elvis. …

A wasp flying in low sunlight: hind legs dangling bright orange, and behind her thin waist the black, banded abdomen shaped like a bomb. …

Six times in a row, the wood pewee chimes in right after the field sparrow. Don't tell me birds don't sing in part for the pleasure of it. …

Overcast and quiet. A silver-spotted skipper drinks from the bergamot, threading the thin purple tubes with its proboscis and leaning in. …

Three hummingbirds circle the blowsy remains of the bergamot at sunrise. One lands on a bare twig and grooms her breast feathers. …

Soapwort, self-heal, mullein, Rudbeckia, butterfly weed: my garden exemplifies the messiness of any organization dominated by volunteers. …

Fast-moving showers; the light changes from minute to minute. A distant rumble turns out to be an A-10 Thunderbolt II—our modems are safe. …

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