I wondered why so many mushrooms were tipped over. I pick one up and found the stem packed with little white worms.
Note: this is one of my tea stained pages -- look at the right edge.
After days of staying close to home because of icy roads I think this is a good essay to post. I meant to post it in several weeks ago, but then the weather was nice and I wasn’t finding much ‘at home’ time.
But first a short note to say my little hummer, mentioned in my last post, is still doing just fine. She actually meets me at the door when I bring her feeder out at first light. I have only to pause and she buzzes away, sipping from the feeder while I’m still holding it. She survived a couple of nights at twelve degrees and more recently it has been in the twenties. Soon nights will be above freezing again.
Do I write or do I draw? DRAT! I’m just pondering this when I dump my tea on my closed sketchbook: At least it wasn’t coffee. The ‘used’ pages, the ones with my watercolor sketches, have a little wobble in the paper. The tea runs off the cover and tracks back into the wobbles. The stain mostly soaked the outer inch, but ran a good three inches on my most recent page. DRAT and RATS! I quickly blot as much as I can.
When I knocked over my mug I was just pondering whether to sketch a fluffy cattail head in ink (I watercolored one yesterday), or write notes.
Notes will put me back into the mood. One of the joys of my journal is later it takes me back to time and place, not that I want to remember spilled tea. I want to remember this late fall sunshine, one raven croaking up a storm, and tiny mayflies hanging in mid air.
Dale and I are at Lake in the Woods for a second day in a row, savoring the last of summer. By mid afternoon the sun leaves all but the western edge of the pond. This warm edge is host to a long string of cattails. Yesterday I found only one head fluffing out, but today I walked farther along the string and found a patch of several. Just a whiff of breeze and fluffs drift up, up and away. The woods behind are dark. Sunlight catches the ethereal fluff.
Douglas firs shed needles just like the alder and maple do at this time of year. Warm brown slivers drift down, every so often bouncing off me or my page. Mostly it is very quiet. Two chipmunks come over to inspect. Their little paws make scratchy noises when they run up a nearby Douglas fir. Two hooded mergansers and one pied-billed grebe are on the pond. For a while I could hear a soft plop each time the mergansers dove, but they moved off.