What Is It?

An unfamiliar bird was on our deck yesterday, just on time for Wild Bird Wednesday.  

It spread out its feathers and wriggled around as if it were taking a dust bath.

(I haven't dusted out there for a while, but it can't be that bad!)

Cooling off, I suppose?

It was even kind enough to pivot all the way around, 

so my birding friends wouldn't have any trouble identifying it.

Can you help us out?

Linking with (you guessed it)

Wild Bird Wednesday

Well, you weighed in, and it's unanimous; the bird is a Great Crested Flycatcher.

Thank you all so much!

What We Look For

At Christmas last year, our local gas station gave out calendars with beautiful photos. Each page has a quote, and this month's intrigued me:

 "What we see depends mainly on what we look for."

The does birth their fawns this time of year, and we're always on the lookout for them.

On Friday evening, just as night fell, with a full moon rising, Don came into my studio.
"Con, do you have a pair of binoculars that you can see out of pretty well?", he asked.
"Yeah, that green pair in the kitchen."
"Can you bring it and come to the bedroom?"

If I've learned anything about Don over the years, it's that when asks me something like this in his calmest voice, it's worth paying attention to. He also has very sharp vision, and half of the interesting things I see around here are ones he's spotted first. I didn't waste any time, but grabbed the binoculars and joined him at the bedroom window.

He pointed to an object not far away, between the shop and the bedroom. "Does that look to you like a fawn?" I squinted through the binoculars. It did indeed. It was tiny and brown, with white markings, and it was laying perfectly still. We thought we could even make out a tiny ear.

This would be the second time a doe had dropped her fawn near the house. Last year around this time, we had found a newborn fawn tucked in a tight ball laying on the ground not far from the deck. With the prevalence of coyotes in this area, it seems to us to be a pretty good idea, and we speculate, wishfully, I suppose, that the deer actually sense that their fawns are safer near us.

I went to bed this time dreaming about the fawn, hoping it would still be around in the morning, and visualizing the pictures I would take.

In the morning, it was still there. Don was leaving early to meet a friend, and had to get the pickup out of the shop. I stationed myself at the bedroom window to see if the little thing would be disrupted. When Don drove out, it didn't move.

It was getting lighter, and I held the binoculars up again. A minute later, I was out the door, shaking my head and laughing at the brown and white, fawn shaped rock that lay between the house and the shop.

Sometimes what we look for has a great deal to do with what we see.

Linking with Saturday's Critters

Thunder

After a long cold winter, the earth has heaved a sigh of relief, 

its warm breath moistening the air and spurring new growth. 

In the afternoons, thunderheads have been sprouting against blue skies, promising rain and delivering little, though showers poured down all around us. But this morning, a storm kicked off with Goliath's bowling ball bouncing on the roof, followed by raging wind and rain. 

I love Midwest thunderstorms; they always sound like they mean business. Growing up in the Northwest, most of the thunder I remember was distant and didn't send dogs slinking under the bed. 

I was in my twenties the autumn I moved from Oregon to Kansas City. Dad had recounted with fondness the storms of his youth in Illinois, and I waited through a bitter winter before experiencing my first Midwest spring storm. Thunder jolted me awake in the middle of the night, and deciding to get all I could out of the show, I padded into the tiny apartment kitchen and popped some popcorn. 

Back in the bedroom, I sat on the floor near the sliding glass doors, my neck craned, and watched in wonder as lightning split the sky, and the heavens roared. It was spectacular, everything I had hoped for.

I will never tire of the marvel thunder and lightning, or of the reminder that the One who made the storm is the One who loves us more than we can comprehend.

Who can understand how He spreads out the clouds,

how He thunders from His pavilion?

Job 36:19 

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son...  

John 3:16 





Check out more sky images at the Skywatch site!

Also linking with Mandarin Orange Monday
and Weekly Top Shot