The goldfinches are back with their canary yellow plumage…
A sure sign that summer is finally drawing near.
There are a whole lot of them hanging around the old neighborhood. They make quite a cheerful racket.
The grosbeaks seem to like the neighbor’s weeping willow.
What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life’s pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.
― Joseph Addison
I’m thinking this might very well be the last time I get to watch over this Bald Eagles’ nest before I move south. This will be the fourth season I’ve anxiously watched for a sighting of the new eaglets. Each of the first two years they had only the one chick. Last year it looked like they successfully fledged two. Still waiting to see what they produce this year.
Lucky catch of one of the adults flying from the roost tree to the nest.
For a point of reference, the above shot is taken from across the river with my 300 mm lens. I can just barely make out the eagles in the nest without the long lens. All the previous shots in the slide show were pretty heavily cropped.
You ought not to be rude to an eagle, when you are only the size of a hobbit, and are up in his eyrie at night!
― J.R.R. Tolkien,
Since posting the last shot of Mario (Lanza -for those of you old enough to remember), I caught him in the act:
This, if nothing else, tells me that spring might eventually arrive. Not to mention that apple blossom about to bust open.
Driving along the dike road, I caught this Mallard coming in for a landing.
Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature – the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.
― Rachel Carson
Our sweet chirpy little white-crowned sparrow has returned with his cheery little song.
Though men in their hundreds of thousands had tried their hardest to disfigure that little corner of the earth where they had crowded themselves together, paving the ground with stones so that nothing could grow, weeding out every blade of vegetation, filling the air with the fumes of coal and gas, cutting down trees and driving away every beast and every bird — spring, however, was still spring, even in the town. The sun shone warm, the grass, wherever it had not been scraped away, revived and showed green not only on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards but between the paving-stones as well, and the birches, the poplars and the wild cherry-trees were unfolding their sticky, fragrant leaves, and the swelling buds were bursting on the lime trees; the jackdaws, the sparrows and the pigeons were cheerfully getting their nests ready for the spring, and the flies, warmed by the sunshine, buzzed gaily along the walls. All were happy — plants, birds, insects and children. But grown-up people — adult men and women — never left off cheating and tormenting themselves and one another. It was not this spring morning which they considered sacred and important, not the beauty of God’s world, given to all creatures to enjoy — a beauty which inclines the heart to peace, to harmony and to love. No, what they considered sacred and important were their own devices for wielding power over each other.
― Leo Tolstoy,
Not entirely sure if this is Cape Arago, though I suspect that it’s actually Cape Blanco. I’m digging out of archives since I decided I’d let posting go for far too long while I’ve been sorting (still) and packing and painting. At least I can get my ‘fix’ of a visit to the coast from archives.
Someday I’ll get to go back to hiking again. There does seem to be a faint light at the end of this tunnel.
Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.
― Lao Tzu
Perhaps a bit of why I’m moving down to the deep south of Oregon….
How could I resist?
You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.
― Oscar Wilde
dedicated to Andy man
Finally caught some shots of Rupert, the Rufous hummingbird who seems to have taken up his position perched on the bracket holding the feeder. He’s ready to take on all comers.
I was very happy to catch the way his gorget changes color from flaming scarlet red to black depending on how the light hits it. Then again… there’s Bubba not looking at all happy about the intruder.
This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
Humbug mountain exploding
As the storms start to ease off a tad, we’re getting some marvelous skies.
The comfort zone is a psychological state in which one feels familiar, safe, at ease, and secure. You never change your life until you step out of your comfort zone; change begins at the end of your comfort zone.
― Roy T. Bennett
I just love this sort of lighting… it looks a bit dark and foreboding, but then there’s those marvelous reflections of sun off the water. Never a dull moment. I’ll take it over screaming sunshine and a cloudless sky any day.
Bubba, scrunched up trying to keep warm about a week ago. The Rufous springtime invasion has started and the hummer wars have commenced. They are such fun to watch. I haven’t managed a good shot of the orange-red invaders yet, but hope to soon.
Oh yeah… and I have daffodils blooming already (at least for a week, or more)! Must be spring even though the storms continue. Perhaps not quite as severe as they have been. Oddly today the ground turned white from a hail storm that lasted maybe five minutes.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
“Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne,