The Birds - Part Deux

Alfred Hitchcock has scarred me for life. As I drove to campus this evening, I saw a freakishly large flock of birds hovering above the interstate, circling as if planning their attack. One bird I can handle, seven hundred I cannot. Where are the writers who speak the truth about how creepy animals can be? Perhaps I'm the only one frightened by the birds, who I swear eyed my Civic like there was a bullseye painted on the hood.

Twinkle Twinkle

Something magical happened last night while I was sleeping--the clouds vanished. (I'm so glad I saved my last wish from my genie lamp for this occasion!) And this morning, before the sun came up, I sat on my sister's front porch and let her dog run about and chase imaginary prey in the yard. While Gracie, the doggy, sniffed the grass, I looked at the clear sky, spying the twinkling stars for the first time in weeks. The sliver of a moon had all but disappeared below the horizon. The cool morning air blew across the porch, sending goosebumps up and down my bare arms. Apparently, in exchange for sunny skies Mother Nature dealt us a cold front. I blew my breath out in tiny white puffs and watched them float away like dying dandelion leaves, up into the night sky.

Rainy Daze

Two weeks ago, when the rain began, it was refreshing. After a miserably hot and humid August, I welcomed the rain with open arms and a wide open mouth (you know, for catching raindrops). But now, our little corner of the world is soggy and constantly cloudy. I want to be happy and saunter about, looking excitedly at the new green-ness of everything, but I can't. I miss the sun and cotton-candy blue sky. As much as I love my new pal Stanley, I'd rather hear birds chirping excitedly than be greeted every evening by creepy little slug. Nashville is turning into one giant mud puddle and my golashes aren't keeping me dry anymore!

Stanley's Back

Last week I introduced you all to the slug who had made his new home on my doorstep. After I escorted him back home, I assumed that would be the last I would see of him. Apparently, we forged a friendship (of which I was unaware) and he has returned. Now that he's a recurring character in my life, I felt the need to name him. From here on out, my new little buddy will be referred to as Stanley. Tonight, I stood in the rain and watched him slither up my sliding glass door, no doubt attempting to escape the flooded lawn again. I could have watched his plump little body crawl for hours, but A) it would have been equally as boring as watching paint dry and B) it was raining and I was soaking wet. So, I wished Stanley a good evening and went on my way.

Twilight Serenade

Sunsets...
If I had an adequate vocabulary to describe them, I would do it all day long. But somehow, I can never find the right words to describe their beauty, my descriptions coming across as forced and trite.



Staring head-on at a sunset produces an entirely different visual than when taking it in from an angle. The colors tend toward the orange corner in the Crayola box. The reflection of the sinking sun on the water is even more breathtaking as it illuminates every ripple on the surface of the water. The lake is never more gorgeous than at sunset. (Or perhaps sunrise, but let's face it, I'm generally not awake to capture sunrises.)



Not a cloud in the sky to block the rosy tones of the sunset. As the huge star sinks lower and lower, the sky turns pink and purple.

The sun's almost gone now and soon the stars will twinkle above. A refreshing breeze swirled over Lake Calhoun and the unseasonably warm day cools rapidly as the sun set below the horizon, where it will soon be admired by those lucky enough to catch it set out west.

With Every Season, Turn Turn Turn

(Minneapolis, MN)

The leaves here are further along in their dying stage than those in Nashville. Although many trees are still a healthy shade of green, many have begun the change to a popcorn butter yellow.



The leaves on this tree are clearly fighting the urge to abide by autumn's rules. Less than a third of the leaves have begun to turn golden, and the ones that have given in aren't fully changed yet. This is the first time I think I've noticed a multi-colored leaf and admired it's beauty--the way the bright green gives way to a murky yellow.



The older, thicker, taller tree is maintaining its green summer glow, while its younger, shorter neighbor has given way to fall's quick approach. Dying leaves already litter the ground, crunching underneath the feet of those passing by on the jogging path. Cars drive past and a whoosh of wind displaces the fallen leaves, where they'll remain until another car passes or a man with a leaf blower bids them a permanent adieu.

If the leaf's a rockin'...

Bugs--a necessary part of the natural environment. Yet, on my walk around Lake Calhoun last night, they bit me, crawled on me and buzzed in my face. I, like many of my fellow saunterers, found myself swatting them away nonstop. What I didn't expect to find upon examination of a berry tree were two ladybugs going at it Adam and Eve-style. I felt incredibly embarrassed at having interrupted their sexual endeavor and instinctively turned my head away...until curiousity got the best of me. I estimated that hundreds, maybe thousands, of little creatures were, uh, engaging in intercourse around the lake and the hundreds of people running, biking and Rollerblading around the path were completely oblivious to it. I wondered, as I zoomed my lens in on them, which was the male and which was the female. Then I realized I knew nothing about ladybug mating habits. Is fall the preferred time of "the rut?" Do the men prefer the women with fewer black spots, or are the black spots part of the appeal? So many questions, so few answers. I snapped a few photos and gave Jim and Nancy their privacy. (Little do they know their sexual exploits are now circulating on the Internet.)

Holy Thunderstorm, Batman!

Last night, I did what I thought Thoreau would have wanted--I dabbled in the art of sauntering. Well, sauntering interspersed with puddle-jumping. Every once in a while, we really must pause and absorb nature. So, while a classmate of mine (who shall remain nameless), jokingly complained about the peskiness of the rain and how he would have to take his shirt to the dry-cleaners, I reminded him of Thoreau. Look at the flowers, aren't the red ones redder and the pink ones pinker? Mother Nature, sitting up on top of puffy marshmallow cloud must have looked down upon Nashville and realized we needed a bath. The leaves on the trees and bushes were shiny again. Water ricocheted off the pavement, creating mini rivers and streams in our streets. Even though my shirt was drenched and pants soaked from the ill-advised, although wonderfully refreshing puddle-jumps, I enjoyed the storm. Lightning striking down around me and moments later, her loud and boisterous sister thunder echoing across the city.

And then I come home and a friend is waiting on my doorstep--a little slug that the rain drew out from his hiding spot. I watched in awe for a few minutes while the slimy brown guy, who was clearly directionally challenged, crawled in circles. I helped him back to the grass and watched him squirm a bit in a muddy spot before he sauntered off to join his buddies.

Slow Death

I don't know when it started to happen, but for the first time today, I noticed brown leaves littering the ground. Looking up into the tree, I realized the leaves on the towering oak had begun their slow descent into death. Only last week the tree had a healthy green glow about it, but the cool nights have taken their toll on the little green guys. Then I begin to wonder, do leaves know their death is imminent? Do they make friends with the other leaves they share a branch with, guys with whom they've survived frost and tornado-force winds? What happens when their buddies begin to turn brown and fall from the mothership? Are they too wrought with sorrow to continue living, thus plunging to their own certain death? What of the leaves that survive until November and December? Are they lonely, with a sense of abandonment? Poor leaves...but autumn happens to be my favorite time of year.

Gloomy Golfing

For me, golf courses are nature's manmade melting pot. Where else can you go and find grass, sand, water, trees, ducks, deer and argyle socks? But the golf course this morning looked sad, a light fog lingering into mid-morning, nary a ray of sunlight poking through the cloud cover. The grass was somehow less green, less radiant--fairway blades blending in with the rough. Even the dirty-dishwater yellow scum on the pond seemed duller than usual. Perhaps Twelve Stones is preparing itself for the end of summer, when the days become shorter, cooler. Maybe the mallards will cheer up tomorrow, Al Roker's calling for sun in the south.

The Ivy

One of the things I love most about living in a city is the unexpected way in which nature imposes itself on our manmade structures. Such was the case as I sat in traffic on the interstate this afternoon. I pass by the same cement retaining wall daily, but today was the first time I noticed the ivy climbing up the wall, the leafy stems extending their reach up and over the top. It's as if that ivy is nature's way of saying, "You can't keep me down."