Charlie Harper: Mystery of the Missing Migrants, 1990.
David and I are in Ithaca, in New York's Finger Lakes region, for most of the summer. I tend to be an early riser (the residual effect of having worked an 8-5 job for so many years) and I like to take my coffee to the front porch to watch the squirrels gamboling in the trees and listen to the birds. The first song is the haunting cry of the Mourning Dove joined later by the Scarlet Tanager and the "call and response" of the Northern Cardinal. If I look closely (squint really, as I don't wear my glasses in the morning) I can spot the male's red plumage in a tree across the street. Once in a while the sound of beating wings announces a hummingbird in the quince bush. Last to join in is a woodpecker (a rather threatening sound, to my ears). By nine thirty or so, all is quiet but for the trucks and cars zooming by on Route 79.
-- sdh
nice birds, nice sounds...thank you! I'm going outside now...
Posted by: Lisa | June 25, 2011 at 10:30 AM
A delightful post (and painting). Mark and I spent a few weeks last summer in Quogue, a little village in the eastern part of Long Island. Your morning ritual of coffee and bird-song reminded me of my own mornings there. Summer is so joyous up North...
Posted by: Emma Trelles | June 25, 2011 at 06:29 PM
hah! We will turn you into a naturalist yet. (Not a naturist, though.)
I love the painting too.
Posted by: Laura Orem | June 26, 2011 at 12:32 PM
Beautiful post and pic, sweetheart. DL
Posted by: The Best American Poetry | June 26, 2011 at 11:05 PM