Favorite flowers

Edible Yellow and Purple Pansy and Marigold Flowers on Glass in Dark through BlackBerry Viewfinder, 2/13/2010

GL, 2/13/2010. Prevail.

February 4, 2010, journal entry

Six miles.

It is loud.

I have just ascended 63 Steps and have entered a short swath of rock and dirt path, and birds are everywhere. And they are loud. I must stop to absorb it all. It is unbelievable. It is amazing. Sparrows and starlings fly in crowds, partying it seems to me, yet they never get in each other’s way as they gracefully land on bushes that pulse in their perch.

~

Magpies sit atop green pine trees, owning their space without apology, chattering noisily, their black and white tux-like plumage and long tail, a luminescent tie in blue. Mag, mag, mag, mag, mag mag, they call, jabbering as they leap and giggle, cartwheel in fast-forward then rewind in the twisted knuckles of Winter tree branches.

~

Loquacious crows fly in a manner seemingly haphazard, definitely unlike the firm geese in their disciplined yet rotating arrow shape in the sky. The crows chase each other, shadows frolicking, shoot up and down, spread and compress, tossing out their calls of caw caw, caw caw, announcing their place in the universe. As the crow flies...throwing a dark net on the ground like dusk winding down to night black.

~

I hear loud coveys of quails click like my late summer grasshoppers, and they surprise me when they lift off in numbers in a brown turbulent arc of wind and resettle, melting in the tailfeathers of wheat-colored dried grasses.

~

Starling on the staffs of high wires are loud and vocal. Not native to the United States, they were introduced to New York City’s Central Park in the early 1890’s by Eugene Schieffelin who wished to bring all the avian species in Shakespeare’s writing to the States. They chatter, trill, and rattle, rotate and roll, individuals melding into a singular aggregation.

~

Small winter sparrows sweep upward for a moment, then dive under branches only to resurface in ripples, churring and chirping in their own aria. Their small cup-like nests, where Nature nurtures her own, are my favorite of all nests I have seen (although I wish I could see the nest of a hummingbird).

~

Ashes, Cunning, Death, Despair, Dust, Folly, Gammon, Hope, Jargon, Joy, Life, Madness, Peace, Plunder, Precedent, Rags, Rest, Ruin, Sheepskin, Want, Waste, Wigs, Words, Youth, and Spinach. (Bleak House, Charles Dickens, the names of Miss Flite’s birds.)

~

I stand still for several minutes until I begin to chill. I think I must return later in the day, and I do return like Spring moments during Winter with my BlackBerry camera in hand. I walk slowly and carefully. Earlier when I was running, the birds’ chattering was constant, not pausing in my presence, yet later, the ringing trees silence immediately upon my second arrival. I stand still for 15 minutes as sparrows land on the tops of weeds and branches, wings like quivering leaves in wind. Eventually, they return to their squeaking and churring, ignore me, and crows restore their caw caw, caw caw to metered lines as they gyre, and magpies, to their volleying calls of mag mag. The starlings and all resume their important work of pedaling the ancient spinning Wheel of Nature and swirl and swivel, bouncing between trees and skies. I want to capture them in the steps of my stride, so I lift my hand to snap pictures, but they flicker and swoop away, too quick and far away for my BlackBerry.

~

I am reminded of fabulous words like bewitching, superb, magnificent, light, fantastic, enormous, and magic.

~

(Although I do think I need binoculars. And another in-depth field guidebook on birds.)

~


Bird's Nest through BlackBerry Viewfinder on Binoculars


Where a Sparrow Was Just Seconds before through BlackBerry Viewfinder on Binoculars

~

Makes me feel ridiculously happy.

~

Sudden shower—
clutching the blades of grass
a flock of sparrows.
(Buson haiku)


GL, 2/4/2010. Prevail.

Favorite flowers

Cattail through BlackBerry Viewfinder on Binoculars

GL, 2/8/2010. Prevail.

Haiku 17

A Dawn Ritual

(Umbra.)

Dawn holds out Her hand
Purple poising in shadows
An endurance stance.

(Penumbra.)

Earth holds Herself still
A bird’s lighting on branches
The weight of a hand.

(Antumbra.)

My breath carries air
Heavily through my long lungs.
Collaboration.

GL, 1/31/2010. Prevail.

Triptych in Silver

Circles


Flowers


Stars

GL, 2/4/2010. Prevail.

January 30, 2010, journal entry, Winter's Color Wheel

15 miles.

I think today is the day I shall officially visit the color wheel of Winter. In my 15 miles, I will be visiting Lincoln Park where I met my tiny hummingbird, 63 Steps, Manito, Cannon Hill, and Comstock Parks, High Drive overlooking a steep bluff, and the small marsh of Hazel’s Creek. Plenty of opportunities for the color I have watched Season’s Wheel spin, turning Autumn to Winter.

~

My hummingbird’s Lincoln Park marsh pond is partially frozen, its grey ice chips meeting the smooth rocky shore. I think my favorite summer running moment was encountering the enchanting hummingbird who cast her spell upon me with her lacey wings.

The short hill before 63 Steps is steep, and even though I am running, its pitch has me feeling like I am walking in place. As I jog up the braid of stairs, my hands alternate in their own stride up the rails.

Entering a short trail, the birds’ song is extremely loud. Starlings and winter sparrows dine on inflorescent yellow, black, blue, orange, and red winter berries, moving from the tops of trees' crowns to the bottom like a violin bow on its instrument, volleying in their melee of the bird melodies.

Bare Winter branches reveal nests hidden during Summer’s green lusciousness. I wonder if the clever seamstresses of these nests will re-use them or sew new ones for Spring.

The number of squirrels scurrying, pausing to nibble chestnuts and acorns in a staccato chewing, astounds me. In one place I count at least 12, holding still like russet pine cones, then with a vigorous shake of tail, scratch up oak trees to the safety of skeletal branches.

~

I see red and yellow, the oranges that hover between the two. White, black, and my silver-grey. Vibrant greens and the various shades of brown in cattails tied to water and frost-crispy sedges, and the surprise of Sun’s white reflection in Hazel Creek’s pond. I am delighted with the pink pine cone I find.

But I am not seeing purple, my very favorite color which sits in my mind in a way that sooths me like no other color.

~





























































~

After pausing to jot notes in my small journal, inch-long grey feathers and the quarter-size wax paper of an honesty plant’s seedpod tucked in its back pocket, I fold its covers and slide it and my pencil in my eggplant purple Adidas jacket. My purple jacket, the one I have been wearing all Winter along and in my right-brained half-marathon.

In my right-brained run today, I realize that I am the purple of Winter’s color wheel, and bow in respect to the unforeseen pleasures I have experienced this Season on my runs.

~


Eggplant Purple Adidas Jacket through BlackBerry Viewfinder

Makes me feel ridiculously happy.

GL, 1/30/2010. Prevail.

Favorite flowers

Kale and Thistle Bouquet in Dark on Glass through BlackBerry Viewfinder

GL, 2/1/2010. Prevail.