Skywatch Friday!

My first Skywatch Friday post ever. This is sunrise over Wheeler Lake, a great widening of the majestic, ambling Tennessee River, in Northern Alabama.

Moss & Stone

Cold, drizzly, wintery, gray day at Joe Wheeler State Park. New macro lens. Playin' around.

I confess to loving winter. This fact may stem from Fleetwood Mac's "Bare Trees" album long ago. Fleetwood Mac wasn't one of my favorite groups at the time but a good friend of mine had all their albums. (Vinyl!) Flipping through them one day the title of this particular album intrigued me. More importantly, it made me consider winter trees for the first time. An album by a reputable group was named after them so they must be special. I'd never given winter trees any thought at all before that day.

And they are special. I discovered at that young age the beauty of naked limbs reaching for the heavens, or twisting themselves into an artistic knot, all silhouette against whatever color of sky was delivered on any particular day. Upon closer inspection the textures and colors of bare, winter trees became even more interesting. Shaggy barks, mottled barks, red barks and the usual brown and gray barks adorned with nature's minutia of lichens and mosses began to fascinate. Even later came the discovery that birds live in dead snags and can be seen during winter much easier than in summer, and thus began a journey into birding.

Isn't it fascinating how one small thing in the mind of a child or teenager can create a hunger, a passion that follows into adulthood? Anyway, looking back at last year's photos of the mosses of Joe Wheeler State Park taken on a gray day while seeking bare trees I just got to thinkin' back.

Cold Front Approachin'

Wheeler Lake Sunset
Carroll Adams

Hurricanes can cause vivid, striking sunrises and sunsets on our lake. My friend Carroll took this photo of the sunset during Hurricane Earl's journey up the east coast. These aren't hurricane clouds, but instead (according to Mz. Adams) "just the cold front that came in from the northwest that pushed the hurricane out to sea." It's sorta yummy, like peach sherbet or a pina colada. Thanks for sharing, twinnie.

October 26, 2004

7:14am
Sony Cybershot
Wheeler Lake

This was one amazing sunrise. It's called with great fondness the Bozo Sunrise due to the vase-shape of red light emanating from the bright white sun that resembles the famous clown's hair. Since my photo days are limited, as are my energies, I'm going to trip down memory lane and revisit lots of photos from My Lake and River for some time. Please to enjoy!

Brand New Day

Spicebush Swallowtails in Love

The past couple of mornings I've waken up to the repeated high pitched call of a single large bird. That's an assumption of course because I cannot see the bird but can indeed hear its single, shrill, loud, sharp ear-splitting call over and over and over for about 30 minutes. Two mornings in a row in the pre-dawn gloom, the only light in the room filtering in gray and flat through the blinds, and this single-minded vocalization reverberating through the skies.

So I lie there and listen until the song is finished. Afterwards, I rise as the other birds begin nervous twitterings.

Yesterday, I watched two nuthatches clamber up and down a tree in my front yard.

There are dirt fairy circles in the yard. Perfect circles made in the dry earth by some creature, about the size of a frisbee. I've no explanation.

The cardinals are feeding in the backyard. Squirrels are gathering nuts.

One early evening I saw bats flying. I adore bats. Lord knows we've enough mosquitoes to keep them happy.

There are entirely too many chipmunks here. They dig up my flower pots and scurry across the patio driving Baylee wild.

I've seen butterflies galore. The spicebush swallowtails above, a red spotted purple, hackberry emperors and scads of sulphers looking for all the world like pats of butter.

Soon, I'll begin fitting the backyard with bird-attracting feeders and a birdbath. Wouldn't a fire pit be fun to have on the patio? Time to embrace this place as we'll be here for a while. It's not a bad place it's just not my place, but for the time being it is the perfect place for us to heal and be. Nature is all around me, even in the city limits. I must be still and open my eyes and heart.

Finding ones bliss by accepting things as they are, then "bloom where (one) is planted," seems key to happiness. Enjoy the transition of the seasons.