Icing from the Inside

It started with sand being thrown against the window, and soon grew to a steady wave of small pebbles tatooing on the roof. In my dream, I was standing on a beach looking at the clear blue waters of Northumberland Strait and the bridge to Prince Edward Island. Peaceful, but slightly disoriented. As I woke,  that vision faded, and was replaced by this one.

When Nature takes your world, and gives it a shake and a polish, you must pay attention.
And so I did.

Cocooned by the soft glow of morning,  and unable to see beyond, I was forced to look within.

Nature's artistry leaves me breathless. A haunting golden moment that rises with the sun and lingers just long enough to remind us that  we can only see this magic when the paint brush is heavily laden.

A magnified moment, frozen in time and soon to melt away.

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S and Making Sense of it All

I have learned about difference. The difference between soft and sweet

and hard and sharp.

I can tell  hot from cold and  wet from dry...and I know if it's hot and wet, or cold and dry, and what that means...

 Is it dark or light or in between?

 My senses tell me sweet from sour and they tell me to be wary

I hear the quiet... and the clamour

And I know my world.
It makes sense.

Read more about 'S' here



As we are about to don our winter whites,  the colours of my world  are calling. 
They beg to be remembered, and so they shall be.

Midnight  Grackle Blue

Meets Blueberry Thrill...

Powderpuff melon... 

Beckons Cinammon Poulet... 

 Bright Shiny Spring

 Greets the Last Apple Red...

And Bountiful Pumpkin adds spice

To White Winter Trails.

These are my colours.
What colour are you?


R is for Ready. Which I'm not.

This was the scene on November 26, 2008.
Brilliant red winterberries blanketed by snow.
Are you ready?

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The Growing Flock

A friend was over the other day and commented on one of the wading birds on top of the pine cupboard.She wanted to know if I could recall where I bought it. And I could.
In fact, each little wooden wonder has a story to tell, that usually involves a holiday somewhere, a local gift shop, and the search for something unique.

However, it  seems that my definition of "unique" is somewhat slanted. Unique means anything birdish...wood, stone, wood and stone. If it has a beak and wings, and  a certain charm, then it gets placed on the list of possible acquisitions.

'Course, once people catch wind of the fact that you like carvings of birds, then it's pretty much game on, and the collection begins to take on a life of its own.
A very nice life I might add.

I now have decoys, and carvings, and sox, and boxer shorts, and earrings, and necklaces, and prints and paintings and books, many, many books...and the subject matters is birds.

And of course, there is always room for more.

It's amazing when I stop and look at the 'aviary' that my home has unwittingly become! And when I start to count all of the birds in it, including those in the all the other rooms, not just the kitchen/dining/living area. Well, let's just say, there's more than a baker's dozen. Or  four.
I would venture to say that most birders have a similar affliction. If it's got wings, and beak, and it flies...it'll likely end up feathering your nest. And if you don't want it, I think I know someone who can likely find a place for it.


Light of November

As we hurtle towards the shortest day of the year, light becomes a huge topic of conversation for those of us who live above the 49th parallel.

This weekend, we "fell back", as in turned back the clocks by one hour in order to, to...help kids walk home from school in the sunlight? (Do kids still do that? Aren't they all bussed?) Allow farmers to farrow their fields in the late afternoon? Huh? Their combines now come equipped with lights, and stereo systems, and leather seats, so that's not right. No....no, wait!  I think it's the opposite. We "spring forward" for those reasons. I have no idea why we fall back. Because someone in 1926 said we should, before the installation of  Sirius Radio on the ol' John Deere? Who knows?  I'm sure someone will enlighten me.

But this I do know...
 This morning I woke up in the dark, drove to work in the dark.
Came home in the dark. Heard the term Seasonally Affective Disorder (SAD) for the first time this season, and thought about the benefits of being a bear,
sleeping the dark away.
In the meantime, I wait patiently for sunrise, 
knowing it will help lighten my mood.

Rust and gold and copper and gray. This is the light of November.


Seeing is Believing

The beautiful Atlantic marshes in Cape May, New Jersey make me long for super vision, and that's a first!
There were days on this magnificent coast line that it felt surreal, until I realized that it was.

Here's lookin' at you,  kid.

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Good Morning Miss Cellanea

The past several weeks have been full of work, and more work,
then throw in some work, and that about sums it up.
Holidays are wonderful but there's a price to be paid besides the Visa bill at the end of them. Starts with W. So I haven't had much time to sit and relax, and go through the photo albums that are so easy to build on the computer! Take the camera, go for a drive, take lots of shots, download, name the file, and then...wait 'til there's a spare hour hanging about.
That would be now! Finally!
So going through the album for September, I remember this day clearly.
A soft, misting September morning.
Quiet. Perfect day to grab the bins, the books, a bun  
and just go.

The Ottawa Valley is a perfect place to ramble. Rolling meadows, roadside streams, very little traffic once you're off the main highway. You can take your time and look to see what the ditches have to offer.

Obviously well used, and right in the middle of a raspberry patch?
It's all about location, location, location.
Just beyond I spy a sure sign that summer is over, and birds of a feather
are making flight plans.

The signs were everywhere on this day. Some less subtle than others.
Obviously, this is where I was meant to stop.

A place to have a little picnic - or catch one if you can.
The area was originally settled in the 1800's, as loggers and farmers and merchants came to the Ottawa Valley in search of the tall stands of timber. It was a tough life, that spared no one. Coming across small family plots overgrown and unkempt is not an everyday event, but nor is it that rare.

This particular road is an old one, and it was likely once an animal trail, 
  that followed the river. It still is rich with life.
The hunted and the hunters dwell here.

They know they're being watched.
By this guy.

While the chickadees hunt juicy little seeds and berries, and
the Great Blue Heron heads to the next fishing hole.

It's all a matter of perspective. Yours. Mine. Theirs.
Life and death. Daily dramas.
Food for thought.