In my dragonfly archives, I have more pictures of blue dashers than any other species. (At least, I believe so. As noted in a previous post, dragonfly identification is a tough study, for me.) While I can’t claim absolute confidence, I’m reasonably certain that all of these are blue dashers.
Please correct me, if I am wrong!
I did a few spring chores in the yard today. I mowed, which thrilled the robins.
Then I uncovered the ginger lilies. Last winter, we lost an entire bed of ginger lilies, who are more susceptible to cold than any of our other bulbs. I feared losing all the beds as snowstorm after snowstorm plowed through the area. Stung by last year’s losses, this year I have been determined to leave them insulated until well after our last “frost date”. They’ve had other plans, stubbornly growing through and under and around their protective layers. So tonight they are free.
It’s not just the ginger lilies. The tulips are ahead of schedule, too. We don’t have many tulips (six, to be exact), and they don’t seem to thrive in our yard. Some years, they don’t bloom at all. That’s not the case this year.
While working in the corner flower bed, I found a family of fresh-hatched spiderlings. (Look away!) I’m wretchedly arachnophobic, but these little motes hardly seemed like spiders. They were almost cute. I watched as they trooped across a tiny span of web, climbed the tallest iris, and floated away on gossamer sails. I wanted to wave goodbye. And wish them luck. And read Charlotte’s Web again.
All told, it was a lovely day in the yard.
A few nights ago, twilight brought a moment of crystalline clarity. The yard turned a warm, monochrome blue. Today, an odd midday fog washed everything blue again, but it was a cheerless, grainy blue. Dandelions folded, tree limbs drooped, and the only creatures that stirred were a pair of restless seagulls over a nearby pond. Both scenes reflected my mood, eerily accurate manifestations of changing emotional weather. How’s the weather, where you are?
Today is too warm for March. And too humid. It feels like June. The sky is low and gray. The yard’s air is clotted, a claustrophobic weight that has me hiding in my office, where a tower of neglected paperwork teeters on the brink of deadlines.
To lighten the mood, I took a brief stroll through the butterfly archives. This was my first “successful” butterfly photo, taken in July of 2010.
Yesterday afternoon, an Unidentified Dreadful Object appeared in the yard.
The Object landed in a major squirrel cache, amid a trove of buried tidbits. This squirrel made a wary approach, but quickly lost courage.
From the fence’s safe vantage, the squirrel eyed the Object for a while. After a few nervous changes of direction, over the fence and back again, anxiety defeated hunger.
Once the squirrel was gone, the Object was easy to subdue and remove.
A sidewalk runs along our fence, and litter tends to accumulate in the wax myrtle border. Every so often, something finds a break in the wax myrtles and lands in the yard. As a kid, I did my share of littering, so I pick up what lands in my yard with a weird sense of satisfaction. An atonement, of sorts, as if each current act of responsibility erases a previous moment of carelessness.
Rae Spencer 