Seagulls’ simplicity and single-mindedness lays bare the basic necessities of their lives, their groundhog day existence: eat, mingle, survive, forage, fly together, chase shrimp boats, sleep, make raucous noises—and repeat.
Dreary January has us dreaming of summer rest and relaxation in the Colorado mountains, with nature up close and personal.
Poetry challenge from the dVerse Poets Pub is to write a quadrille (44-word poem) using the word “with” in some form.
We’re finally back at Little House in the Rockies, taking some vacation time to enjoy the gorgeous fall weather at our little cabin in central Colorado.
An open reflection in prose form on the hopefulness factor of celebrating the new year, illustrated by numerous species of shorebirds with a seemingly collective sense of peace and purpose.
The sky in Bay St. Louis is luminous, intoxicating, and just can’t take a bad photo, so I wrote a haiku to honor it.
Everyone touches the world in their own way. Making my own tiny imprint through this blog, I need to balance the dark with the light, the yin with the yang. This post and poem are gentle and positive.
Pumpkin spice is a thing, a social movement, a gotta-have-mine-it’s-October pull of nature almost stronger than a biological clock, but geeeeez, trying to project that onto poor birds seems like a Big Bad Bird Wrong
I spent about ten minutes photographing our Inverness seagull, who I named Nessie (wouldn’t you?), and this was truly a microjoy.
A family of geese came and went, causing us to worry about predators: gators and eagles and hawks, oh my!
Grab a cup of coffee and I’ll walk you through a couple of happy hours I spent with my camera on Easter afternoon at the Tarryall Reservoir State Wildlife Area.
We’re all waiting for the day when friends can once again be greeted with a bear hug.
A pair of new studies show how birds improve our wellbeing, adding to a growing body of evidence that avians are an antidote to our despair.
We celebrate, honor and value birds, today and every day.
A heron stopped by Gumbo Cove while I was there doing more cleanup from Hurricane Zeta.
A haiku inspired by mourning doves in the early morning at Gumbo Cove … were they sentries? Signposts? They seemed like they were anxiously awaiting something. Like us.
We are all armchair travelers right now during the trials of COVID-19, and today I’m thinking of an afternoon stroll, a long conversation and the birds in St. James Park.
