July 12: Kingfishers catch fire

In the morning, when I drove over the creek on my way to work, a kingfisher was sitting on the electric line over the water. The sun was behind him, so he was just a silhouette with that distinctive crest and beak.


From The Second Book of Birds, Louis Agassiz Fuertes (artist), 1901

In the evening, we had a strong storm. It was classic: first the heavy black clouds, then the wind tossing the trees and carrying a few leaves vertically, high in the air, and then the sheets of rain. Before it started to rain in my location, I could see a bank of clouds over the ridges in the distance to the north, with the clear ribbons of dark rain being released and moving quickly from west to east. After the storm passed, there was cloud-to-cloud lightning in the distance well in to the night.

All together, it reminded me of a verse from Gerard Manley Hopkins.

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.

July 13: Morning light and dusk cicadas

It was a rainy morning, which I prefer; even though it's super muggy, there's no glare. But when I trudged from my office across campus to my teaching building, and I turned around just before entering the building and looked back as I always do, I realized I missed my view of the morning light. At that time of day, the sun comes down to the floor of the square in ribbons, like maypole streamers from the tall upper story of pines and oaks.

In the evening... I know I keep saying it, but the cicadas are insane. They are so numerous and so loud. I can hear three distinct kinds of calls, so maybe they're not all cicadas (but they're not crickets). I tried to record them tonight on my balcony, but the traffic noise interfered. Sigh. The traffic wears on me in ways I don't always even realize. Well, the next time I go to the farm I should be able to find plenty of peace in which to record the decided non-quiet of the cicadas.