3BT: winged beasts and feathered skies

Been working like a madwoman, lately. Exhausted as all sin. Was even smited late this week with some nasty allergic reaction all over my frakkin' body! I blame garlic.

Nonetheless, the pain receded and I took Babydog for a walk this evening that allowed me time to pause and soak in the beauty of the evening. It was lovely. Humid and hot, but peaceful. Felt lucky to be alive and witness the simple wonders around me.

So here's another nod to Clare's mission, and three beautiful things I noticed this evening:

1. The song of the cicadas. It is eaily the sound of summer for me. I love their drawn out trill of weeeee-oooo, weeee-oooo, weeee-oooo. Lots of people hate cicadas, but I hear their chorus and it fills me with joy: it's persistent and only comes once a year. It's like a hymn of praise that swells up amidst the heat. A reminder of impermance and the need to live in the now. When I hear them, I think, "Enjoy this now. Summer will end soon. When they stop, school will start again and all your summer freedom will be over." They sing of the present.

2. A high sheet of thick cirro-cummulus clouds spanning over the sky like a vast silvery, bluey-white bridal train. They looked almost like the tips of peackock feathers, only white. Often, those kinds of clouds precede thunderheads. I could see a line off in the distance behind the sheet, but whether we'll have storms tonight, I don't know. These clouds this evening were pure icing, though.

3. Spotting a hawk on a neighbor's fence. I did a double take. It was about 30 feet from us, calmly perched on the chain link fence, glancing around. I inched us closer to it - maybe another 5 feet - slowly and quietly and just watched him for a bit. Even though we live in a solidly urbanized part of the metro area, he was a reminder that wildlife will not be denied. Sprawl be-damned. These are our neighbors, too.