Warm sun. Chilly breeze, and increasingly harsh. In the junipers, sapsuckers cry like exotic jungle birds. High up in the morning air, the house flies and marsh flies that zigzag and gossip together reflect sunlight in tiny flashes, like bits of airborne cellophane.
Yesterday we walked on the ridge. I photographed the plants coming on like gangbusters in the damp soil while there's still time, before the earth goes dry. No IDs yet. I've forgotten everyone. One's a lupine, for sure. Three I've never encountered before--that blob of yellow and the other blob of lavender color, and those vertical spears coming up everywhere around here (it may be yampah, a spring-dug Indian root food). (Someday a better camera.) And then the tiny seed pods, purple-polkadotted, held high above the soil, like pretty little balloons, from a very tiny plant. There are so many more to photograph and ID before they wither away.
In a few minutes I hit the road, walking west toward the highway, where I will meet my friend Sally. She'll drive us into town, where we'll have lunch, talk much, and I will pick up my car, which has a new master cylinder now, so that finally I can stop. I hope.
11:09:22 AM 
|
|
