Behind the Fence

Birds gather ornamentally at the tippy top of a bare-limbed tree. Perfectly spaced gaps separate them on their high perch as they sing and chatter loudly at twilight, interrupting each other with both important and frivolous mentionings of the day.

Ignoring the chain link fence below, they suddenly rise together as one entity and swoop through the swirly sky, proving the fence can not confine them like some sort of giant birdcage. I marvel at their cohesiveness and wonder if all that chirping was an orchestrated plan to fly in a great synchronized circle from tree top to invigorating rush and back again, or if their stunt was just a game of follow the leader.

They are free to explore the sky above, but they seem to respect the imaginary boundary line of the fence hugging their tree... all but one, that is. One daring bird brakes away from the flock and crosses that boundary line, maybe to bravely see what I'm all about.

He quickly finds his way back, however, and all the birdies continue their multiple conversations, now oblivious to me on the other side of the boundary line.

They seem to take comfort in numbers and familiarity back behind the fence again. They're within safe boundaries even though they have great capacity for more and the necessary tools to fly away. Even though they're free, they confine themselves to the lure of the tree's best qualities, behind the fence.

It's nice to have a safe, familiar, comforting branch of my own lined with people who are there to push with encouragement or pull with open arms for whenever I beat my wings and venture beyond the comfort of my fence.

From Behind a Fence,

Dawn

Sunny

A dose of sunflowers is a good frown remedy. I happened upon the happiest of flowers as it danced in the sunlight. It waved me over to capture its joy and it easily made me grin. If the corners of your mouth need a lift, may a sunflower find you.

Smiling,

Dawn

A House of a Different Color

We have a new house! Well, no, not really. It just looks like a new house because we've had it painted.

Before:


After:

The new an improved little house is beaming, and so are we.

Dwelling,
Dawn

Fireworks & Frogs from Left Field

Our evening of the fourth started out with a hot hike from our wayward parking spot to the gates of Hi Corbett Field to see a Toro's baseball game. How American of us to partake of one of our country's great past times.

Well, apparently, it was a grand idea of thousands of other proud Americans! The park was stuffed and our plans of hot dogs and fireworks bursting over the field were about to change. It was just too much--too crowded, too tight, too much.

So we turned around and hiked back to our car and our new plans were impromptu. First we headed to El Guero Canelos where we enjoyed some authentic Mexican-style, taco-stand cuisine. I got my hot dog after all: a Sonoran style version complete with a bacon-wrapped hot dog, pinto beans, tomatoes, jalapenos, mayonnaise, mustard and grilled onions. Muy bueno!

Then, we were headed home when Gayle, Mike and the kids told us they were at a nearby, tucked-away park to watch the fireworks just west of the freeway, so we did a u-turn to watch the sky with them. "We're in left field," they told us. We swam through the humidity and flying ants to reach them on their beach towels and lawn chairs, little "ohs" and "uh ohs," laughs and worries coming from Nathan as he narrated the evening's display as only he can.

For as crowded and popular as the main road by our neighborhood was with firework watchers on hoods of cars and in the beds of trucks, the park was like a private little haven! We were fixated on the crowd-pleasing bursts of light.

Nathan has just begun to say my name and Kurt's name and it is just the most wonderful thing ever. I'm "Awn" and Kurtis is "Urt." He would say our names as he flip-flopped from lap to lap.

After the light show, we applauded and packed up. On the hike back to the car (for the second time that night), everyone stopped in their tracks when Gayle, Megan and Sarah all three squealed, "Frog!"

I whipped out the camera again. Gayle said, "I hate bugs." And she slapped her leg.

The evening began outside of the gates of left field with dreams of hot dogs and fireworks and what do you know? The evening concluded with tummies nice and full with hot dogs, and in the very grass of left field itself as we watched fireworks in the dark with family, among the frogs.

Happy Independence Day,

Dawn

The Queen of the Night

Once a year at the end of May in the magical desert, angelic white flowers called night blooming ceriuses open their delicate, skinny petals for a single night only and the aroma wafting through the air is delicious, strong and sweet. The blossoms do not match their home; in fact, they are pretty much the opposite. For all other days and nights of the year, the spindly cactus looks like a drab dead stick, but really, this unlikely host has the patient, determined hope for an annual, beginning-of-summertime gift--the Queen of the Night herself.

Speckled all throughout the land, the queens are nocturnal and open beneath the moon and stars. The plant collects and stores its energy all year long for this one spectacular night.

The queen is a white that is so pure and bright, she practically glows in dark. Between her beckoning fragrance and and this whiteness, shy giant sphinx months are, no doubt, giddy in anticipation of the sweet drink that awaits them. I read that the nectar inside this flower is twice as concentrated as Coca Cola Classic! But the hawk moths won't come out until the equally giddy spectators go home and when the temperature is just right. Then they'll drink the nectar with their long, tongue-like proboscis and the sticky, yellow pollen will coat their entire body.

Tohono Chul Park hosts a bloom night every year where people can come observe these marvels. Click on the link to read more. It says they may have a second bloom night in late June or early July!

Here, at this gem of a park, the cereus cacti are easy to spot since they are surrounded by chicken wire and the pathways are lit by bagged luminarias. Everyone is a photographer trying to capture the event in all its splendor. People crowd around the flowers with umbrellas, flashes and tripods. Being shy myself, I wonder, camera in hand but not shooting, just watching others and listening to docents educate onlookers. I linger and I wait for the pack to clear out. It says on the park's website that they had 1300 visitors on bloom night this year!

As I meander the trail, the air feels like lake water can feel--the odd mix of both warm and cold currents. It's a perfect evening...except for the crowd. I long to be alone with the blossoms and moths, but sharing the event is the price we pay to even get the chance to witness these amazing specimens on their big night. How lucky I'd be to happen to come across a Queen of the Night in the desert at the exact right time without a mob of people. And honestly, if that ever did happen, I'd want to share it anyway. What a contradiction!

My mother-in-law, June, gave us a baby cereus. Right after I put it in my backyard, something ate it! But it has grown back since then and hopefully in the next five years we'll have our own private showing of a night blooming cereus. Maybe I'll even get to see a moth come by for a drink.

Finally, after 11 PM, I have a bit more space and the occasional alone time with the flowers to admire them and click my shutter on a tripod for 15 to 30 second intervals by the kind blue light of my cell phone. I wish I could hide in the trees like the moths and wait for utter privacy. But I do what I can until I'm pressed to leave. It's close to midnight. Something scurries through the shrubs along the trail, crickets chirp, and cicadas buzz.

The time has come for the moths to take over a now empty park and prepare for the flowers to come back again next year. What a glorious purpose. Thanks, moths. Thanks, dear queens of the night.

Until next year,
Dawn

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Spirit

Tonight I saw this commercial on TV and it brought tears to my eyes. There's nothing like a little encouragement to make the spirit soar. This situation could have gone so many different ways and this was definitely the best scenario.



Enjoy!
Dawn

Giraffes Galore

We had such a fun time with the delightful, gentle giraffes at Reid Park Zoo one afternoon.

(If you click on the collages below, they will become larger.)

Their strong yet tame, long gray tongues played tug-of-war with bits of vegetables from our hands and they were tolerant with our teasing. I like to think that giraffes have a good sense of humor. We just wanted to see how far that tongue would reach for a delectable snack. But, still, we would not want to cross their line of friendliness and anger even the sweetest of giants. They are still wild at heart.

I love this awkward, exotic animal; one that is related to our familiar cow, but yet (neck included) doesn't that seem a bit far reached?

Such a joyful experience with them at the local zoo also brings me a little sadness because of their captivity, and all I can hope is that they don't mind their Sonoran-desert-climate-zoo home too much. Thinking of all the space there is out there for them to roam and graze in their native Africa, makes me long for their freedom. But I suppose there are more threats to them in the wild though, too. A friend of my dad's, Lesley, an animal handler at the zoo, was so kind to allow us a longer linger with the tall, spotted giraffes.

Thanks for the gander, you magnificent creatures.

a guilty and hopeful spectator,
Dawn