The mallards are active today. They scurry against the current, poking at the banks where leaves and debris have collected. They're mostly sticking together, the ducks -three females and five males. One male stands off to the side of the creek about fifty feet down. All I hear is water. My fingers grow numb and breath surrounds me. I wish I had a home to go to and hunker down in. It must be teetering on the edge of freezing rain. Visiting on another day would have been wise.
The birds are getting more active. I saw several Cardinals on my walk in, a lot of finches and smaller birds, and one red crowned bird I couldn't identify. I know it wasn't a woodpecker; it was too small. I had never seen this bird before. His frame was slight, his feathers washed in shades of brown -all save for his head which boasted a brilliant ruby cap. Somewhere close by, a bird says "chirp-y chirp-y" in quick successive beats. A crow calls from the top of a pine tree. If I only had a blanket and a cup of coffee, this would be a perfect reading spot. I read on the stage at the park in the rain. Sounds right. Sounds good.
The rain comes faster now. There's a squirrel in one of the Willow Oaks alerting me to movement. He sees the couple and their dog before I hear them. We watch them walk past. Their voices seem to loud. I stop. The squirrel stops. The pass, moving in shepherd sized strides on grass that's just showing a hint of green. In two weeks, we'll be able to see the tops of tulips coming up around trees and flower beds but today, it is cold and I can't feel my fingers moving. I wrap my fists in my sweater. I wish my coat wasn't at the dry cleaner's. The squirrel moves again; he and the birds just want me to leave. I think of my last birthday; we spent it here, eating cupcakes on the hill across the pond, sunning ourselves like madmen without spf, amazed by buttercream, dreaming of words and possibility.
Your closing lines here (and in the other entries) leave me with so much to think about! There's something intriguing in your viewing this place from the squirrel's-eye view.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like the bird you couldn't identify could have been a house finch? Although a non-native import, they're not that invasive are all over the south. Pretty and a lovely song too.
Some thoughts:
ReplyDelete(1) "I wrap my fists in my sweater" is such a great recounting. Love details like that.
(2) I'm envious you can recognize so many species of birds on-site. I'd be lucky to identify an authentic ostrich :P
(3) Your concern about flash-flooding, laptops and Jeeps: My girlfriend and I just passed a crashed Jeep last night on our way to the theatre. The door was bent open and two guys were standing outside it. Kylan, who drove a Jeep Cherokee in high school, scowled. "Those things are death machines," she said. "Really? How come?" "They're tin cans. And they have a high center of gravity. Even my dad rolled one. That's how my sister broke her arm." More drama than I ever expected from a single make of car. I think of them as outdoorsy, all-terrain, military-style vehicles, designed as they were for WWII. But nothing fares well in a flood :)
(4) TULIPS? In a couple of WEEKS?! I am green with envy. Well, pale and vitamin-deficient with envy. We Pennsylvanians are at the mercy of our groundhog :)
Ah, the tulips sound wonderful to me too. Take some pictures for your blog when they start to emerge. I was excited to see a little bit of green among the white this past week. The last sentence made me feel cozy after reading about your cold descriptions. Those descriptions-the possibility of freezing rain, the lack of coat, and the numb fingers-made me want to shiver just reading them. It's hard for me to sit for long when I'm cold. When I'm outside, I have to keep moving to keep my mind off the coldness. Because of the coldness and discomfort your park visit brought, I really enjoyed the image of the hill, the cupcakes, the sunshine, and the dreams. It made me feel warm and content.
ReplyDelete