Too often, we spend our time never looking above eye level. Those times when we do raise our sights, a whole new layer of life is revealed. Here, a carpenter bee hovers, keeping a wary eye on life below. A lesson in looking up.
Too often, we spend our time never looking above eye level. Those times when we do raise our sights, a whole new layer of life is revealed. Here, a carpenter bee hovers, keeping a wary eye on life below. A lesson in looking up.
The scene was like some botanical swing dance, with the partners tethered by the slenderest strand of spider silk. A hot summer breeze kept the seed parachute aloft, but never out of reach of its partner.
When indigo buntings sing, do they hit blue notes?
The nearest cell tower has been the roost for a small band of vultures for years. In the last weeks, however, some of the vultures have ventured closer to the house for a rest, lighting on trees just past the yard. When you glance out the kitchen window and see the large, moribund-looking birds staring back, part of you wonders if it’s an omen.
A few days later, a lightning bolt crashed near the house, knocking out the power, water, air conditioners and other and sundry electrics, as temperatures outside soared past 100. Inside, temps in the living room hit 107. Thanks to all the repairmen who have come and gone in the last two weeks, the house is livable again.
Neither of these fellows has come to roost near the house lately. At least none that we’ve seen.
The sound of insect love songs is filling the air in central and eastern Arkansas as Brood XXIII, one of the 13-year cycle of cicadas, emerges from the ground for its short, post-dirt life looking to make another brood that will emerge in 2028.
Been a while since we posted. We had a couple rounds of heavy winter weather and being trapped away from home for days at a time. Nice to be back home. Between bouts of wintry mix, the birds came out and did what birds do.
Arkansas is a landlocked state, but it doesn’t mean we don’t see mountainous waves on occasion. Back in July, this thick bank of fog rolled in from the west, breaking over a long fold ridge and spilling down its southern flank. The second shot is the wave just a moment or two earlier as it was cresting.
For most of the last week, winter has cast a foggy, rainy spell over our part of the Arkansas Ouachitas. This is how nature makes her own monochromes.