New Horizons

We moved out of the lake house completely this weekend. It's temporary. We have jobs to do elsewhere for about a year, but agree we will return to our little slice of heaven on the lake. A very nice couple has rented our house and for that I am extremely grateful.

I spent Sunday night all by myself. Saw some friends, sipped wine overlooking the water, and watched the moonrise. Monday morning's sunrise came cold and clear. Jumping out of bed, the camera and I stole outdoor into the chill. Aperture wide, the railing my tripod, we got several good shots of the last lake sunrise - for me, anyway, for a while.

The Giraffe Head Tree shall serve as sentry now overlooking the buckeyes, oaks and hickories, the red headed woodpeckers and their offspring, the eagles and ospreys, the mergansers, loons, herons, ducks and pelicans. Too, the GHT shall oversee lake operations of various fishing boats and barges, yachts and sailboats, powerboats and trawlers that pass by in the channel. I've charged the GHT with keeping the raccoons and armadillo under control as well. Allow the great horned owls to land unimpeded and keep our guests entertained with sleeping squirrels along your foreleg.

We'll be back, Giraffe Head Tree.

"Beautiful and graceful, varied and enchanting, small but approachable, butterflies lead you to the sunny side of life. And everyone deserves a little sunshine."

Jeffrey Glassberg

Summer always jazzes up the neighborhood with holiday cookouts, impromptu sunset gatherings, folks gardening and doing home maintenance. The business of summer is everywhere. People flitting about to and fro making hay while the sun shines as the birds and bees and butterflies do the same in similar fashion. Walking outside I'm always entertained by some activity. If it isn't a neighbor trundling by in their golf cart, hoards of kids hanging off heading for the pool, then it's the kaleidoscope of active colors in my gardens. The lantana is getting large now and is attracting butterflies and bees and hummingbird months. The Tiger Swallowtails always show up first, and we always see spring Monarchs. The Black Swallowtails are in abundance now, and I'm beginning to spot Buckeyes and Painted Ladies. Soon, the Giant Swallowtails should be here. Actually, I think most of the butterflies are in abundance now, but not in my garden. I need to plant some early spring flowers to attract them even earlier. Butterflies are my favorite Winged Wonders.

Optimism

An overnight misty, dampness settled upon the lake cloaking everything in fog. The old sodium lights glowed orange along the roadway, their reflection barely discernible in the gloom. Bed came early, and we woke surrounded by a dense, white mist. Along the front path spiders had woven their nightly magic, stringing garlands from leaf to leaf, branch to branch. The soft dampness had lined these webs with liquid pearls that glinted in the morning haze. The beauty was there, but there are those who never see that sort of subtle miracle.

There's much to be said for optimism. Optimism is seeing liquid pearls instead of brusquely brushing away annoying spiderwebs. Every day we are inundated by negativity. It surrounds us in every form of media. It's easy to get sucked into the mire and spiral down into a pit of hopelessness. Our challenge is to face the world with optimism and enact positive change in our own small way. Daily.

I'm an optimist, which annoys my husband and embarrasses my daughter.

I'm an optimist anyway.

Singing in the Dark

For weeks now I've been hearing the most beautiful birdsong outside my window. Surely a warbler, I said to myself. So lyrical and crystal clear and unusual. Finally, I spied the singer sitting atop my front porch light singing for all the world like he was Pavarotti. Is it already time to seek a mate? It's January, my birdie friend, and freezing cold outside. Yes, the nest from last year is still safely ensconced within the porch light frame (we removed the bulb so they could safely and privately procreate and raise their family last summer), however shouldn't you do a little housecleaning first? Obviously he disagrees, as he sits within the nest and calls out for hours hoping for love.

This morning, walking Miss Baylee at a chilly 5:30am in the complete dark I hear him singing loudly. Why does a house finch sing in the dark, on a cold January morning? Frost is glistening in the sodium lights. His song is so beautiful, his heart so filled with love and longing.

That he sings in the dark is to me a metaphor for hope, and for determination, and an example of the eternal optimist. I wish you well, little house finch and pray you find your mate soon!

Oh, the porch light is yours for another year.