Sunsets, Birds, Trees and Tom Hanks

The weather has been very pleasant for the past few days: cool, overcast, with the occasional little burst of rain.  Heaven, in other words.  I haven't dreamed about moving to Alaska since last weekend.

The sunsets have been spectacular, especially on Monday night.  I took two shots, the first of the sunset itself, then in the second I used my telephoto and pointed my camera into the heart of the clouds.  The colors, the fire, the beauty of the evening...

I had two Nat Geo moments yesterday, though I'd already blogged twice earlier in the day, so thought I would just wait until today.  As usual with the way the world moves, one of my stories has to do with a Hummingbird, and wouldn't you know, RandyG at Inverted Sky posted the most beautiful photo on his blog this morning, of a wee bird sitting on her nest.

One of my National Geographic moments is my own Hummingbird tale...

Though there's been a bit of rain, it's not enough to truly soak my garden, so each evening I go out, drag the hose up the embankment, and water my raised beds and the flowers.  I have a resident Hummingbird--one I have blogged about before and often see in my backyard...

Photo taken in Feb 2012

So, I'm out watering last night, and I hear the whirr whirr of incredibly fast-beating wings.  I turn my head, and there he is, hovering right off my shoulder.  I smile, and strike up a quiet, one-sided conversation as he darts around me at the speed of light.  Then--and I couldn't believe this--he hovers right at the edge of the water spraying from the hose, and has a drink!  I froze, not daring to move, afraid if I did he could drown in the stream.  He fills up, then darts toward me, dodges around my head, then disappears down the mountain.  What an amazing thing.

Second Nat Geo moment...

My mailbox is about half a mile from the house, so every evening (Summer) or late afternoon (Winter), the boys and I take a walk to get the mail.  Last night, just as we head back to the house from the box, this large quail dashes out of the bushes...

Photo taken in May 2012

He spots us, and starts running away down the middle of the road.  We keep walking, the dogs not really caring about the bird as they're too busy looking for squirrels, and I figure he'll make his escape down the slope any minute.  He keeps running down the middle of the road.  We're catching up to him, so I make some shshing noises, and even flap my arms, to make him get back under cover, but no, he's running the NYC marathon down the flaming road!

This keeps up for the entire trip back to the house.  He stops, I stop, the dogs stop, then we all go forward, repeat, repeat.  It's actually pretty funny and by the time we are within sight of my driveway, I'm having quite the conversation with him, cheering him on, etc.  I expect that he'll keep going down the road once we get to the house.

But no.

He makes a perfect right turn with no hesitation at all, and runs right up the driveway!  Well, now that's poaching into the boys' territory, so they finally acknowledge the poor (no doubt exhausted) bird, and chase him to the fence.  Somehow he mustered up enough energy to fly, just barely, over the fence and down the mountain.  I have no idea why he walked/ran for half a mile when he could have easily left the road at any time, but it sure was entertaining.

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Last week I noticed this bizarre tree whilst walking the boys along the river; I didn't have my camera with me that day, so this morning I grabbed it, and off we went to this spot across the bridge from our usual place--which I've been avoiding since the flying debris experience.

This tree reminds me of octopus tentacle suckers, or whatever they're called.  I don't know how the tree lost so many limbs, but on a dark and stormy night, can't you just imagine this tree using those suckers to grab the unwary?  (Have I watched too many Tolkien movies?  Sleepy Hollow?  It's not just me.  Right?)

I had the boys off-leash so I could take a picture without jiggling, and when I turned to see where they should have been...they weren't.  I call out.  I spin in a circle.  No dogs.  Walking past the Octopus Tree, there's an opening along the bank, and I can see the river.  The boys are halfway down.  No, no, a thousand times no.  This is a sheer drop and not one I want to attempt, thank you very much.

Thankfully, dogs, like small children, respond to The Voice.  They froze on the bank, then with a last wistful glance at the water, the mud, the wild abandon, they turned and ran back up.  I leashed them, then took a moment to look at the view.  It was then I saw this:

A Green Heron.  He was fishing and probably cursing the fact the dogs had disturbed his morning.

I made the boys sit and be still, then took a few close-ups.

They're funny little squat birds, not the tall, elegant herons most people think of.  And their feet are yellow, webbed and splay out like a frog's.  I was just bringing the camera down from my face when he struck...and I missed the damn shot.  Still, I got the aftermath, which would have been a true Nat Geo photo if he'd caught the fish!!  Just my luck he wasn't a very good fisherman...er...fisherbird.

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And the last thing...really...

There's been this, I don't know, promo-type thing on Yahoo for the last few weeks.  It's usually in the sidebar when I'm looking at stuff on the internet.  I see it, wonder for a second what it means, then move on.  Yesterday, I finally decided to see what in the world Electric City was, and what it had to do with Tom Hanks.

Turns out, it's like a video comic book.  Each episode is only about five minutes long.  Tom Hanks wrote the story several years ago, and now it's been made into this internet animated story.  He plays Cleveland Carr, an assassin; everything takes place in Electric City, long after the world we know has fallen.  At first I thought it was weird, but I ended up watching the first episodes and now I'm hooked.

Not sure when the next installment was coming, I checked this morning and there are a few more posted.  I don't know much else about it, but it's curious, interesting, and I gotta go.  Who knows what's happened in Electric City since yesterday??

So Sorry...

Spotted Towhee

Photo taken in my back garden, Winter 2012

Because my house is mostly windows, and I live on top of this mountain, the birds get confused by the reflections and fly right into the glass.  It's a dreadful sound: startling with the abruptness of it, and distressing because I know exactly what it means.

One of the guest bedroom windows used to get the most...hits...mainly due to the reflection of the giant oak tree.  I've stood on the slope, looking into the window, and truly, all you can see is the watery image of the tree.  No wonder the poor birds smack into it.  I've tried various tricks to alert them to the dangers ahead, and it seems to be working as there haven't been so many impacts lately.

The real danger now is coming from the master bath window.  It's huge, and at certain times of day, it looks just like an extension of the Valley below.  The birds can get up some real speed as they fly up the ridge, and if they're not paying attention, they hit the window at Mach 4.

There's a strange phenomena that occurs when the birds hit the windows: they leave behind a ghostly image of themselves. It's weird, and poignant, and oddly beautiful--in a most macabre way. The images are usually of wide-spread wings, full chest, and tail feathers. Like snow angels in a way, or an x-ray made of white dust on clear glass.

Amazingly, defying all sense and cosmic culpability, nearly all of the kamikaze survive.  They might have lost a link or two in the chain, but as far as I'm concerned, if they can shake it off and fly away, it was a good day.

So.  Earlier this morning, having my coffee and breakfast, I heard the dreaded noise: a sharp, loud thrump.  The dogs growled, Ozzy went to his guard-the-house window (it overlooks the road), but of course didn't see anything because the sound came from the back of the house.  I finished my breakfast, hoping when I opened the curtains after my shower, that I would only see the ghostly aftermath of the collision.

But no.

The poor wee thing was laying on the back deck, head at an awkward angle, his ghost impression most strong on the window.  Oh, it made me so sad.

Then I realized I would have to remove it.  And I felt sick.  I paused, wondering at my reaction.  Why should that be so upsetting?  I have staunched bleeding wounds, hauled the injured to the hospital, done CPR, wrapped sick animals in towels and headed to the vet, pulled teeth...well, the list is endless, isn't it?

And yet.

I stand on the deck, and can barely figure out what to do.  This little, broken creature has to be taken away.  What is wrong with me?  I wish--for a long painful moment--that I could just shout to Alan to come do this.  He would have done it swiftly, kindly, and I could have turned away, not been part of the finality of this tiny life, snuffed out on a warm Summer's morning as it flew wild and free.

Deep sigh.  Time to deal.  I get a small plastic bag and the dustpan, but I just can't make myself bend over and scooch it into the bag.  I stand there for another few moments, murmur a heartfelt apology, then try to maneuver the bird into my bag.  Halfway in, the breeze blows the bag and the bird flops and rolls on the deck.  Oh man.  I think for a sec that it has actually moved.  I lean in to look closer because, holy crap, I can't bury the poor thing alive!!

But no.  Dead as a doornail, or a bird that flew full-throttle into a double-paned window.

It takes me three tries to get the wee thing into the frigging damn bag.  By the time I'm finished, I'm in tears.  What an ignoble way to be treated: rolled around and poked with a dustpan and screeched at when your little foot touches the finger of the idiot woman who's trying to dispose of your corpse.

In the end, I got my spine reconnected to my brain, dried my tears, and took care of the bird.

It was a crap start to my day.

For now, I've left the ghostly image on the window.  Maybe it will warn the others...