Windows to gladden your heart

I'm still sorting old photos. Laurie took these in my daughter's antique church/wedding chapel near Chilliwack, at the eastern end of the Fraser Valley. (She and her husband are photographers; this is their headquarters.)

I simply love the colours.

Stained glass window high in the entrance, below the bell tower. The looped-up bell cord and the rim of the bell are just visible in the dim interior.

Round window in the nave, with treetops outside creating water and flame patterns.

The church dates from 1886; these would be the original windows. The bell cord has been replaced, probably several times. The bell is still rung for each wedding.

A bird in the hand ...

... would be better off in the bush.

I was sitting here at my desk, thinking about the Circus of the Spineless (of which I'll remind you again later*), when a sparrow hermit thrush flew full-tilt, head-on into my window, and fell unconscious on the cement.

I dashed out to rescue him; he was lying on his side, not moving, but when I picked him up, he was still breathing. His eyes were closed, his beak open. I brought him inside to the warmth, and wrapped him in the first thing that came to hand, paper towels.

He moved slightly, and I peeked. His head was bent back, towards the right side, but the right eye was open. When I put him down, he struggled to stand upright, but kept his head twisted. He didn't seem to notice me, a few inches away.

A soundless distress call

In case of accident ... well, for humans, they say to guard against shock; keep them warm. So I got a big plastic bowl and made a nest out of a towel in it, then gently put the thrush inside and covered him up. And sat there with him on my lap while I played a few rounds of Solitaire. Something mindless, to keep me from disturbing him from sheer impatience.

After about ten minutes, I put a hand on the top of the towel. Immediately, the thrush started to thrash about and call frantically, so I took the bowl to the open door, and lifted the corner of the towel. He jumped out and stood, teetering on the sill.

The left eye is still closed, the beak open, but he's silent again. 

Five more minutes, and he opened the other eye, hopped to the ground, then flew a few feet to a clump of potted plants ...

Feathery bird on rusty bird.

... where he sat. He watched me, but didn't mind me moving about, taking photos. After a while, worried about him getting cold, I touched his back, and he roused himself and flew into the shrubbery. 15 minutes later, he was gone. Good! I hope he got over the headache soon and completely.

Still on the rusty bird, against a flower pot patterned by snails eating algae.

Every now and then one of the chickadees brushes my window; not too hard, and they recover almost instantly. This is the first bird that has really knocked himself out for several years. I wish there were none. But how do you keep them from doing this? I've tried a few suggestions, like painting lines on the window, screening (They bump the screen and the glass, too, just not as hard.), or cross-hatching the danger zones with sticky tape. Nothing really works.

Any ideas? What do you do?

*About  Circus of the Spineless: tonight, midnight, Pacific Coast time, is the deadline for submissions to the October edition. You may e-mail your invertebrate posts to me, wanderinweeta AT gmail DOT com, or send me the link on Twitter @wanderinweeta.

Astigmatism at the mall

Laurie had an appointment with the ophthalmologist near Surrey Central*. Afterwards, we walked back to the mall:

Pointing up and out.


Surrey Central tower.


The tower, reflected in the mall windows.


Zooming in. No, that's not the eye drops; that's what it looks like.


Reflections and a view of the mall interior, superimposed.


The upturned-boat roof of the mall.


And to rest those poor abused eyes, a view of the world out there. But still a warped reflection.

We have to go back to the eye clinic now.

*Mall, SkyTrain station, and Simon Fraser University, all scrambled together.
.

W*rk. Too much w*rk.

I shouldn't spell it like that; I do love my work. But it's feast or famine, sometimes. And the curse (and blessing) of working at home, on my own time, is that I have some long periods of idleness (well, busyness without income) and some equivalent times when I am chasing a deadline until late in the night.

Like tonight.

So; here's a photo to ponder. I call it "SkyLight".

And I'm going back to my red pencil.

Good Planets, January 13th

The latest installment of Good Planets are Hard to Find is up, at Somewhere in NJ . Great photos, as usual. I especially liked the one of shutters in Amsterdam (windows an added benefit: I love reflecting windows!)


(The photo on this post is a non-stained-glass window in the Augsburg Church in Bella Coola, BC. The red berries and green leaves of the mountain ash outside give it some colour.)

Laura will be posting the next two installments, and then I will take over for February. You can e-mail photos to her at lc-hardy AT comcast DOT net and then, after January 27th, to me at susannah AT dccnet DOT com .

And all the photos, old and new, are archived at the Good Planets Flickr Gallery .

'nuff links?

Walking Telephone Poles or Heavy Seagull?

In Strathcona, Vancouver, early morning.



View from the bank window. Mural, truck, chimneys, wires, a seagull and a buckling telephone pole.



No matter how carefully they make and install windows, they cannot guarantee perfection. After all, glass is a liquid; it moves, however slowly. Here, one pane of the bank window is decidedly warped; seen as a mirror, it demonstrates its own theory of relativity: space bends, in spots.

Three More Windows

Just a few photos to accompany the entry at Wanderin' Weeta, the blog.

The first one is in downtown Vancouver: an unintended art piece.


Next, a rather confusing window; which end is up? The two halves don't seem to go together.

And finally, a winter scene in the middle of summer.