A post from the nemophilists on the meadow

 A late October afternoon on the meadow.

and then an early morning encounter ...

It was not yet fully light. The sun was casting long shadows on the hay fields.

As I took this fellows pic, the flash on my camera kept snapping up, giving his eyes that eiree glow.

  About 10 minutes later, we watched him and two other coyotes cavorting like puppies at the other edge of the meadow.  They roared around, chasing each other and rolling over themselves.  It was a delightful thing to witness.  These pics below are better if you click  and make them bigger.

 Here's that word ~ a new one for me.  Love it.

Of Greek origin:  

nemophilist (n.) a haunter of the woods;

 one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude.  

Pronunciation | ne-'mo-fe-list 

Our 'Bohemian neighbourhoood' on a Saturday morning.

We counted 21 Bohemian Waxwings this morning.  

If you are wondering how Cedar and Bohemian Waxwings differ; 'All About Birds' is a great resource.  It's my online go-to for identification.  Here is an example of their ID viewer . 

Our waxwing visitors this morning used the cone laden top of the tall Englemann Spruce (the Grosbeak's nesting tree) as their base while they flew back and forth to the creek below. 

The portion of the creek they were zipping back and forth to is where the beaver has built his dam.  The dam produces a soothing waterfall sound and also apparently, a bloom of something the waxwings were enjoying. 

The Bohemian's were a welcome sight on an overcast October morning. About half as many came through last year in early November.

 Arthur C. Bent (1866-1954)  one of America's greatest ornithologists, describes the Bohemian Waxwing as “a well-dressed gentleman in feathers, a Beau Brummel among birds.”   

( 'Beau Who?! Okay, gotta love Google ) Beau Brummel was an iconic figure in Regency England; the arbiter of men's fashion in the early half of the 1800's.  

Here's a portrait of the nattily dressed Brummel.

 

Did you know; a group of waxwings are collectively known as an "ear-full" 

or a "museum" of waxwings. 

Till next time ~ here's to happy songbirds everywhere.

And thanks for dropping by.

The colours of fall

I find it difficult to write anything that these images do not say better themselves.

Come enjoy the beauty of fall on the meadow. 

 

 

 

 

 

Song for Autumn

In the deep fall
    don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
    the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
    freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
    warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
    inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
    the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
    vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
    its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
    the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Mary Oliver
New and Selected Poems: Volume Two

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October on the meadow

 Invigorating, crisp October mornings that sparkle.

"The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly
changes from summer cottons into its winter wools."
-   Henry Beston, Northern Farm

 Bright sunny Afternoons. 

Smiling comes easy and laughter too like leaves falling.