Bounty

 

Bounty

I opened the living-room drapes to better greet the morning.  In the midst of summer, we always wait because the bright light was direct and a bit too harsh before morning coffee.  But now, in early autumn, the sun’s arc has shifted on the horizon, so that those first rays are now first filtered by the linden trees.  The dappled light is softer and more welcome.  Ground fog shrouds the field across the road and brightens like the white robes of the righteous as the sun rises above the far edge of the spruce trees that form the eastern edge of the field.    

I grabbed a hat and made sure that the screen door did not slam as Michelle prefers to greet the morning when it has, shall we say, matured just a bit more.  Not far into my walk I saw my first wooly bear caterpillar of the season.  It’s a good thing for him that I did see him, because I came very close to stepping on him.  I was a bit more alert and ready when the second one crossed my path about twenty feet farther down the road.

At the far end of my yard, I stop to look at the lilacs.  I planted them thirty years ago to fill in that corner and bring the perfume of spring to us.  This fall, they have blossomed again.  It may be a sign, but I don’t know what kind of sign.  I have never seen lilacs bloom in the fall, so it is a bit of a mystery.  But there are three varieties bunched in that corner – a common white, a common purple and a hybrid variety.  All three of them are in bloom across the tops – the leaves have already dropped from the lower branches.  Although perplexed at the meaning of this extra bloom, their flowers and perfume are an unexpected blessing.

I was watching more attentively as I approached the two big ponds.  Just as they have for the past three weeks, a couple dozen snowy egrets stood guard.  There was a tight bunch where many of them stood statue-like with a half dozen more scattered down the shoreline.  Their pure white feathers caught the early sun just as the ground fog had.  These egrets are late summer arrivals.  Very occasionally I have spotted a single egret stealthily hunting the edge of the ponds, but for some reason this larger group just showed up several weeks ago, looking a bit late for the summer waterfowl party, but now they seem determined to stay until the very end as if they were here all along.

A knot of teal, perhaps thirty of them, rest against the near shore.  Geese, in family groups, are scattered all across the glass-like surface.  Then, just westward, emerging from the fog that is lifting now, comes seven sandhill cranes.  They are about twenty feet up and stretched almost wingtip to wingtip.  They begin to trumpet loudly as the pond looms up out of the fog and into view.  They set their wings and land in almost perfect unison. Their heads thrown back as their raspy calls increase in volume and intensity.

The fog itself is lifting and rolling back simultaneously.  A rainbow briefly appears in the lower wisps of mist, but then fades as if it quickly melted into the morning. 

A huge flock of hundreds, maybe a thousand blackbirds tops the woods to the north and settles into the middle of the field.  It is likely that they’re spent from a night of migration, and they are in need of food and rest.  Their loud cackling dies down quickly and they are all silent.  If I hadn’t seen them land I would never have guessed that they were there.

A rough-legged hawk tries to find a morning thermal, but the air is still chilled and heavy.  The hawk has to keep breaking its attempted glide to flap its wings furiously and climb a little higher in a circling search for the day’s first updraft.   Now he pierces the morning with a scream like the psalmist: “Awake, my soul; awake, lyre and harp!  I will wake the dawn.”  Psalm 57:9

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan