High Summer

Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been
the two most beautiful words in the English language.
~ Henry James

A Rose Worth Screaming Over

Aphids and spiders and fungus, oh my!

Sundown at the River

A short visit to the river’s edge Wednesday evening was a peaceful way to close out the day. Countless cottonwood seedpuffs floated on the water, and the cool still air was fragrant with tree blossoms and clusters of wild grapevine bloom.

The Bug Whisperer

I made my way into the basement Friday afternoon to check on my orchids.
A bit of motion caught my eye, and upon closer examination,
I saw a lightning bug had somehow gotten stranded in a small puddle of water
under one of my orchid pots. The poor thing was on his back
struggling to get out of his watery hell.

Quickly I grabbed a bit of screen and held it over the sodden creature.
He grabbed onto it right away and clambered to safety. I placed him
on a piece of paper towel so he could dry off, but already he seemed
to be in shock. Using a tiny paintbrush I carefully freed his waterlogged antennae which were stuck to his back. This seemed to help momentarily,
but soon he was in the throes of agony once again. His little legs spasmed uncontrollably, and I didn’t know what more I could do. He flipped over
onto his back, so using the paintbrush, I righted him onto his legs.

As the evening wore on, hope began to fade. Time after time I turned the poor little guy right side up, but inevitably he would end up on his back all over again. I even whispered encouraging words to him, but in the end, despite all my efforts, he gave up the ghost and died…right there in my basement
on a quiet Friday night.
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Death is terrifying because it is so ordinary.
It happens all the time.
~ Susan Cheever
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Sunday on Monday

This post is part of the Sunday Stroll Invitation Series

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That’s just how it works in the springtime around here.
We can see a little bit of everything.

~ Ray Visneski

I spent a lot of time taking pictures Sunday afternoon, and I exhausted all of my energy in the process. Now that I have rested, I can share what I recorded.

Doing the Ant Dance

These days I’ve got ants in my pants…but these aren’t those
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Q. How many ants are needed to fill an apartment?
A. Tenants

Q. What do you call an ant who likes to be alone?
A. Independant

Q. What do you call a 100 year old ant?
A. Antique

Q. Why don’t anteaters get sick?
A. Because they are full of antibodies

The videos aren’t so great, but you get the idea.
(Best viewed in the small default-sized window)
done

done

The country of the tourist pamphlet always is another country,
an embarrassing abstraction of the desirable
that, thank God, does not exist on this planet,
where there are always ants and bad smells and empty Coca-Cola bottles
to keep the grubby finger-print of reality upon the beautiful.
~ Nadine Gordimer

Asterbees

There’s a great new dining place in town
…if you have a yellow and black striped butt.

Bells

The play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter’s bell
A moment yet the actor stops
And looks around to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task:
And when he’s laughed and said his say,
He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that’s anything but gay.

~ William Makepeace Thackeray

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Crimson bells tolling in the garden

The temple bell stops
but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
~ Matsuo Basho