Well-deserved

 She's been working hard all afternoon, de-worming a lawn. Bath time!

Her own spa, with sun-heated water.

Singing in the shower.

Soaking.

And after a quick shake or two, she went back to work. Got a family to feed!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trabajó duro toda la tarde, removiendo las lombrices del césped. Y ahora, ¡a bañarse!

1. Petirrojo, en su spa preferido, con las aguas calentadas por el sol.
2. Cantando bajo la ducha.
3. Y remojándose.

Y luego, una buena sacudida, y regresó a la obra. Tiene cría esperando la cena.

Things that made me happy in 2023, Part 2

The springs that come and the summers that go,
Autumn dew on bracken and heather,
The drip of the Forest beneath the snow....
All the things they have seen,
All the things they have heard:
An April sky swept clean and the song of a bird....

(From The Charcoal Burner, Now We are Six, by A.A. Milne.)

Sea and sky and forest floors ...

Again, in no particular order.

A beach, sky, beachgrass in the sunlight. Today, Black Creek estuary.

Silvery bark. February.

A sparrow taking a bath. December.

Poor photo, but still... Teeny-tiny white flowers. No, I don't know what they are. June, airport trail.

An old boat propeller on a friend's board fence. June, again.

A hard, dry fungus on a short stump, black and orange. November, at the museum.

Looking into an alternate universe.

There's a large glass vase on the shelf above my desk, just where it catches the earliest rays of the morning sun and splits them into rainbows up and down my wall. The rest of the time, it shows a reflection of a fictional room, certainly not mine. It gives me two extra doors and a view of the water. I don't know where it gets them from.

The tiniest fly visible with the naked eye. Just a speck on my wall. September.

A cormorant, heading up-river. December, Tyee Spit.

More anon.

A Skywatch post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosas que me hicieron feliz en 2023, #2.

Las primaveras que vienen, los veranos que se van,

Rocío otoñal sobre los helechos y el brezo,

El goteo del bosque bajo la nieve ...

Todas las cosas que han visto,

Todas las cosas que han oído:

Un cielo limpio de abril, y el canto de un ave ...

(Fragmento del poema, "The Charcoal Burner" por A.A. Milne.)

Fotos:

1. Una playa, el cielo, hierbas halófilas bajo el sol. Hoy, Black Creek.
2. Una corteza de árbol color plata. Febrero.
3. Un gorrión bañándose. Diciembre.
4. Pobre foto, pero me gustó. Flores pequeñísimas, no sé de que especie. Junio, cerca del aeropuerto.
5. Un hélice de barco viejo colgado en la barda de una amiga. Junio.
6. Un hongo duro y seco que crece en un topón cortito en el césped del museo. Noviembre.
7. Una vista de un universo alternativo. Se trata de un vaso de vidrio que permanece en el estante arriba de mi escritorio, justo donde le llegan los primeros rayos del sol en la mañana, y que el vidrio transforma en arco iris y lo pinta en mis paredes. En otros momentos, me muestra lo que parece un reflejo, pero por cierto no es un reflejo de mi cuarto; me da unas dos puertas imaginarias, y una vista al mar.
8. La mosca más pequeña que se puede observar a simple vista. Un puntito en mi pared. Septiembre.
9. Un cormorán cruzando Tyee Spit, volando rio arriba. Diciembre.

Splash zone

 These are not-so-good to lousy photos, but the birds were having so much fun! So was I, watching them.

Young robin in his private pool.

Well, maybe not so private.

"Let me show you how it's done."

How do they do that, anyhow, without their heads unscrewing themselves?

The starling, left alone, works on his technique.

Yes! So cooling! 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Unas fotos no tan buenas, pero los pajaritos se divertían mucho. Yo también, viéndlos.

1. Un petirrojo en su alberca privada.
2. O no tan privada. Tiene visita.
3. —Permíteme enseñarte como se hace. — (¿Cómo es que no se les desatornillen las cabezas?)
4. El estornino, ya a solas, ensaya su técnica de salpicadura.
5. ¡Tan refrescante!

Angry birds

While I was sitting in a park taking a break from the sun and the blistering streets, this bit of action went down on the far side of the plaza.

"Can't be having with this horrible sun! It's a miserable life! ... But what's this? Water?"

"Feels good on my sore feet. Maybe ..."

"Ahhhh!"

"Uh, oh! Security's showed up!"

"Can't I have even a moment's peace? Like I said, miserable life!"

(Security guard) "And stay away!"

These are mean streets.

*Update: The hopeful bather is a female Great-tailed Grackle; the other three are White-winged doves.

Bath time

On Stories Beach.

Warm water, warm sunshine: perfect!

Scrubbing those tail feathers.

... the left wingpit

... the right wingpit

... and shake, shake, shake.

Hard water, fluffy water

And cold feet

(I've been sorting files all evening and night. This one from a few years ago turned up, and seemed very appropriate for today; our first snowfall of the year.)

Watch them grow

Even though it has started to rain occasionally, the raccoon kits still visit my basin of clean water. Although whether the purity of the water matters to them is doubtful.

Now they're big enough to tip over the basin and drink the water off the ground.

They are still too small to reach the bird bath. (Notice the wet paw print on the side of the clay pots that form the bath*.)

For comparison, here they are a while ago:

July 5th, still being led about by an anxious mother. One of four kits.

Three of the four out on their own, July 20th. The basin comes to the top of their front legs.

Now, almost six weeks later, the basin top is below their knees. They've stretched out; their noses are longer and less pointy.

*The bird bath is made of two large clay pots, bottom to bottom, held together by a stick through the holes in the base, and weighted with half a pot of rocks, to keep the raccoons from tipping it over. A clay pot tray makes the bath itself.

Yellow jacket. Well, a yellow-striped black body suit, anyhow.

Every time, almost, that I look at the bird bath these days, it has a wasp at the edge, getting a drink. Most are yellow-striped, like this one.

Either Dolichovespula arenaria, or Vespula pensylvanica. A yellowjacket, anyhow. Not on my birdbath; that's a blackberry blossom.

But yesterday, I noticed an almost black wasp, with a touch of blue striping. And then there are the orange ones that speed away as soon as I come near. And the little sand wasps that stung me last year. And the tiny ones that look like yellow fruit flies. And the black ones with a red belly.

All those live within a few feet of my door. And probably more that I haven't noticed yet.

Skunks and raccoons by night; wasps and chickadees and house finches by day. That's a busy birdbath. I'll have to start stalking it with the camera. (The bird cam doesn't notice cold-blooded insects; not in its contract, it claims. Lazy watchdog!)

Under a summery blue sky

Bare branches ...

Reflected in the ice on the birdbath:

This was a few mornings ago; now it's warm and rainy. I foretold it correctly - a grey-green Christmas.

But green is good, right?

A Skywatch post.

A quick dip

Gull in a hurry; a 30 second bath.

Shady pool, cool dip.

White crowned sparrow, bathing before dinner:

We have been gardening, pruning, potting, rearranging garden tools, doing a spot of carpentry, and hanging new curtains and rods on the glass doors to the back yard. This sparrow and her (his?) mate got tired of waiting for us to go away, and splashed away happily a few yards from me.

And I am tired, tired, tired. And sore all over. I'm loading up on painkillers and going to bed. G'night, all!

Afternoon dip

They take turns ...

Next!

Getting comfortable

A young robin takes his afternoon dip:

On the rim, checking me out. "Looks safe enough," he says.

"Nice pool you've got here!"

"Just soaking my feet for a bit longer. Feels so good on a hot day!"

Can't get decent help these days!

What's this?


What have you done to my water?


Well? Are you going to do something about it? Huh?


Here's a drip. But no bath today, I guess.


No thanks to you!

.