9 March 2022 (mother reports)

my mother reports

her blackbird is back . . .

soft spots in lake ice

11 August 2019 (birthday)

loon family

floating on the calm river

mom’s birthday

January 24: Crane text

In Mom's text--Sandhill Crane

walking down her street

past a pink flamingo.

 

Sandhill Crane, Englewood, FL

 

Posted with Blogsy

October 28: Migration

Zugunruhe--

she thinks of me when she sees

a flock of blackbirds.

 

 

Zugunruhe: a German word that means migratory restlessness

Posted with Blogsy

August 17: Loss

Wake from a nightmare--

I almost lose my mother.

Young crow calls all day.

Posted with Blogsy

August 11: Waxwings in the blueberries

My mother's birthday.
Waxwings gorge on blueberries,
a happy flock.

And Mom, you'll appreciate this: later in the day, the blueberries were approached by an acquisitive family of four crows that strutted together right down the driveway for a snack, much to the annoyance of the local Blue Jays.

June 21: Solstice

We decided to celebrate the first day of summer by driving up to the town of Monson, which the Appalachian Trail passes through (and which is home to the excellent Spring Mountain BBQ). After lunch we hiked a few miles on the AT, to a small beaver pond and back. As we stood in the bog at pond's edge, dragonflies landing on our arms, we spent several minutes trying to figure out what bird was making a loud peeping sound. Turns out it was these ducklings:

 

We had flushed their mother and they wanted her back. When she returned, we were able to identify them as goldeneyes.

 

Goldeneye chicks--

those loud cries for their mother

need no translation.

 

Posted with Blogsy

November 6: Sandhill Cranes

Mom calls from Florida to tell
how a crane ate Cheerios
from her hand.

July 23: My mother's deer

My mother was dealing with a stressful situation this afternoon. While she was anxiously waiting on the phone, on hold, she happened to look out the window and see this graceful doe looking back at her.

photo by Vicki Henderson

The doe, too, anxious

as my mother waiting for

good news on the phone.

August 11: Birthday

Today was my mother's birthday, and we celebrated at my sister and brother-in-law's camp on the lake en famille: my sister, brother-in-law, two nieces, my brother-in-law's parents, his brother and sister-in-law and their baby girl, my parents, and us. The clouds that had lurked overhead all day bunched up against the green hills to clear the skies, as the glow of the setting sun cast a rich light on the clouds, the water, the surrounding pines. My husband caught a frog to show my niece. Fish jumped. Pewees called back and forth in the forest. As dusk fell, bats fluttered back and forth. My niece learned the constellation Cassiopeia, who turns out to have been a queen of Ethiopia, where one of her friends was born. We walked barefoot down to the dock to look for falling stars from the Perseid meteor shower but only saw the plumes of our breath in the crisp air.

My brother-in-law grilled steak and lobster; his mother made potato salad and tomato and beet salad; his brother made an apple pie; my sister provided a birthday cake with candles; we brought fresh Beech Hill blueberries. We all feasted with much joy and laughter. We left as the almost-full moon was rising, full as the moon ourselves and happy.

When I'm 64,
I want this too: lake, family,
good food, stories, stars.

September 13: Buddhist Chipmunk

My mother mentioned that a chipmunk liked to perch atop one of the stone statues of Buddha in her lawn. This was funny enough to imagine, but when we pulled into the driveway to drop her off, sure enough, there it was: a chipmunk on Buddha's head. Pesky as they are, chipmunks are endearing little rodents. This particular chipmunk was clearly familiar with my mother's ways, as it didn't budge from Buddha's head when she approached. Buddha's serene expression also remained unmoved. One might wonder if it's a spiritual chipmunk, at one everything, startled by nothing. Or perhaps the height of the statue makes for a good vantage point. Do chipmunks like a view? Curled atop Buddha, the chipmunk remained calm until we got within a couple of feet of it. Then it darted up into the rain gutter. When I tapped on the gutter, the chipmunk let forth a series of high-pitched noises that could only be considered invectives. It was clearly upset that we had interrupted its daily commune with higher powers.

On Buddha's stone head
chipmunk exudes compassion
for all seed-bearers.