Greetings from the Bird House

It was over 90 degrees on Thursday, which is not my favorite weather unless I'm standing on the beach about to swim in the ocean. I did a bunch of end-of-June work and tried to get Cinnamon a vet appointment but everyone was booked except the emergency hospitals and Cinnamon has always freaked out so much in cars that we thought she'd probably be more comfortable here, especially since she seemed better (she didn't pee on the couch, anyway). 

We waited till evening to walk to avoid the heat and saw the new bluebird family in our bird house -- we suspect that it's the same parents from earlier in the spring with new babies (see below, from eggs to tonight's feeding). And we watched a couple more episodes of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel around my usual Thursday night fangirl chat, which mostly had four people this week though the one who has been in Disney World dropped in to say hello. 

Poem for Thursday and Flower Season

The short night—
By Yosa Buson
Translated by Robert Hass

The short night—
on the hairy caterpillar
beads of dew.

The short night—
patrolmen
washing in the river.

The short night—
bubbles of crab froth
among the river reeds.

The short night—
a broom thrown away
on the beach.

The short night—
the Oi River
has sunk two feet.

The short night—
on the outskirts of the village
a small shop opening.

The short night—
broken, in the shallows,
a crescent moon.

The short night—
the peony
has opened.

The short night—
waves beating in,
an abandoned fire.

The short night—
near the pillow
a screen turning silver.

The short night—
shallow footprints
on the beach at Yui.

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Today I learned that sugar ants live in electrical outlets -- weirdly enough, we don't have them in the pantry or even the cat food dishes, but climbing on the power strip we use in the evening for our phones and laptops, apparently coming through the outlet next to the front door. My love of animals does not extend to insects in my house, and everything that gets rid of ants -- both insecticides and home remedies like peppermint and clove oil -- are bad for cats, so we have to figure out what to do about this before it gets worse. 

My Wednesday was uneventful except for chatting with my high school friends, one of whom has a son graduating from medical school tomorrow and another of whom just had a daughter unexpectedly move back home after taking a job near her. It was lovely here, not too warm, and I cleaned out the bird house from which the baby bluebirds recently fledged because I'd read the parents might use it again if the old nest was removed. We watched Kung Fu, which was okay, and started Schmigadoon!, which was fantastic. From local gardens: 

Poem for Wednesday and Assateague Egrets

The Edges of Time
By Kay Ryan

It is at the edges
that time thins.
Time which had been
dense and viscous
as amber suspending
intentions like bees
unseizes them. A
humming begins,
apparently coming
from stacks of
put-off things or
just in back. A
racket of claims now,
as time flattens. A
glittering fan of things
competing to happen,
brilliant and urgent
as fish when seas
retreat.

 -------- 

Tuesday was not exciting around here -- mostly chores, writing, making appointments, repairing a pair of earrings. We actually managed to take a walk this afternoon with no animal crisis interruptions, so I got to visit with bunnies while enjoying the woods. (I have no news on the bird and am unlikely to get any; Second Chance Wildlife has a phone recording saying they don't have time to give updates on rescued patients because they're so short-staffed. So I will just hope for the best.) 

 I watched "The Swarm" with my Voyager group, after a long fight with my computer to get Zoom working; none of us remembered the details of the episode and I enjoyed it despite the forgettable plot. Then my computer tried to install the latest Windows update and we had a really, really long fight, so I was distracted during Supergirl despite the musical number, giant cat, and witchcraft, and during the season finale of Miracle Workers despite Daniel Radcliffe at an orgy. Herons and egrets of Assateague Island: 

Poem for Friday, Bird Rescue, Park Bluebells

The Fledgling
By Mary Oliver Rotman

A fledgling crow huddled in
the grass beneath the drooling
gazes of my curious dogs.
Its eyes were blue.

And in the tree, its mother screamed.

In my hands it lay, gently confused.
Too young to fear me,
it opened its thirsty beak and greedily
swallowed water from a syringe.

And outside the window, its mother screamed.

I scratched its head,
stroked its breast,
and boxed it for its journey
to a refuge for homeless birds.
And, as I carried it to the car,
its mother circled overhead.

And screamed.

--------

After more than two weeks of having done everything we were supposed to do to keep ourselves and the public safe -- social distancing, no going in public places even for groceries (which we've had delivered), no dining out for family celebrations, live conversations only from several feet away -- we reset everything this morning when we had to invite strangers in because we could hear that the animal in the exhaust vent was still there and trying frantically to get out. We had to call in local wildlife experts -- the humane ones, of course -- and they had to go on the roof and into the attic, then cut two holes in the bathroom drywall just to figure out where it was so they could lure it out. From the level of scratching on the ducts, we were betting that it had to be a squirrel, but it turned out to be a starling that flew out into the living room, where we then had to rescue it from Katniss, who jumped higher than we knew was possible to try to grab it before we shooed it out the back sliding door and it flew into the trees.

So $300 later, the bird was free, we didn't have to worry about a dead animal in our duct work, the space through which we believe the bird entered has been sealed, and now we just have to hope neither of the nice men who climbed all over inside and outside our house have anything contagious. Since this was the most excitement the cats have experienced in years, they slept the rest of the afternoon while we wiped down every surface the animal control guys touched or might have touched. Then Paul did a bunch of phone conferences and I scanned a bunch of 1998 photos, after which we went for a walk to the spring peepers and bluebells at Locust Grove. We had leftovers from the restaurants for dinner, then we watched the Heath Ledger Casanova on Vudu, partly because we really like the movie and partly because Vudu was giving out $2 credit for watching their free-on-demand movies leaving in March. Here's my day, including a frog and ducks at the park, cat supervision, and my new washable safety mask:

Poem for Saturday, The Hustle, Cape Henlopen Wildlife

Ardors
By Carol Frost

The tortoise walks on tiptoe in June,
the month of his ardors.
Buttery light, distant thunder
in the month of my ardors.

Flailing boughs, coral lime
in the wind and verdure.
Then silence, dark creamy
shadows in nighttime verdure.

The moon traversing the garden,
florals made of a blush or a breath,
nightbirds with a little lump
of insect under their tongues, breath

of clover, grassy, spiced,
and all of it rinsed of emotion.
The leaden nymph by the gate.
All, all rinsed of emotion.

By what bough are the fireflies
hidden, and the stars?
The night’s leavings in daylight
lie hidden like the stars.

--------

My Friday morning was uneventful -- mostly involved research into new computers, haven't made any decisions yet -- and listening to lots of Eddie Money. After lunch I was going to go out and do a raid, but when I opened the door, there was a tiny little green bird looking stunned on the porch mat, and when it hadn't moved an hour later though I went outside inches away from it and the cats sat in the window glaring at it, I called the nature center in Cabin John Park, which referred me to Second Chance Wildlife Rescue, which was likely to close before I could get there. When I went outside with a box and went to pick it up, though, it peeped, hopped, and flew away!

The weather was completely gorgeous, cool and overcast, so I could have the doors open most of the day. I did eventually go do a Deoxys raid near CVS, after which I went to the park for a little while and got gas. We had dinner with my parents, saw the beginning of the Nationals-Braves game (which did not end well for the Nats), then watched The Hustle, which had some cute moments but I did not like as much as I was expecting; it's not a story of women working together to con men so much as women in a turf competition and the male con artists are always a step ahead of them, so there's really no good girl-power feeling at all. From Cape Henlopen, some of the wildlife and cacti:

Poem for Friday and Longwood Highlights

Somewhere Else
By Matthew Shenoda

It is here on this ridge
exposed to the orange dusk
of mountain autumn
that the story begins.

Buck wood for the stove
feel the heat of shoulder to tendon
greet the mule deer
and water the garden again.

In rhythm, with song
when the ax begins to blend with wind
carry on to warmer days
on the river’s open banks
where the fervor of healing is found in water.
Flow from one origin to another--
there is never a place where we cannot begin
where the current is ancient, the wind is young
teaching each other like the ax and the wood.

Carve a place for dignity
plant a seed and pray for rain
for sun
for understanding outside your self.

There will come a day when they say:
who do you think you are
and another day will come
for you to tell.

On that day the story will appear
but do not tell of yourself

tell the story of the staff that blossomed in the desert
or the one about your enemy’s greatest victory

tell the story of somewhere else

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I spent most of my Thursday morning working on the Star Trek: The Next Generation review I'd normally be doing on Friday, but my kids have no school and my husband is taking the day off, so since we're going out to enjoy the fall while the weather is good, I needed to get it done early. Unfortunately the episode was "Sub Rosa," which was just as horrible as I had remembered -- it's just as well my kids didn't watch this one with me! At least I had leftover CPK Thai peanut pizza from Wednesday, and cats to keep my lap warm -- they were not at all pleased about the cold, rainy weather.

I went to visit Rose in the afternoon to give her a copy of the Shutterfly book I made about the baby bird Adam rescued and she rehabilitated; we talked for a while about animals and photography, then I came home to see whether Daniel needed a ride home from school after his math test, since he was afraid he'd miss the bus (though he didn't). The rain eventually stopped and I took a walk after dinner, which we ate early because Daniel was going to Kay's house to finish up testing for the project he was working on with her husband over the summer. We watched $%*! My Dad Says, which had the priceless scene of William Shatner singing karaoke "I'm Too Sexy," then we rewatched the Nikita pilot because we didn't know it would be a rerun, and eventually we watched Oprah making Colbert give Stewart his mojo back.


The miniature Garden Railway in the Idea Garden at Longwood Gardens.


One of the flowers along the alley of the Flower Garden walk.


Here I am with Dementordelta in the central gardens...


...and here we are by the snake fountain in the lower part of the gardens.


The Main Fountain Garden show (there is music too).


The gazebo by the lake in Pierce's Woods...


...and the view through the open dome.


And here I am with a giant gourd in the Curious Cucurbits & Monster Pumpkins display.

Poem for Tuesday and Renfaire Shows

Witness
By Forrest Gander

for Jean-Luc Mylayne

Or the vision that holds
at its razorpoint
the feathers of a bird
goes blue. Each sleepless-
ness framed, behind,
by this whine
of insects. So a shutter,
lifted, offers
to looking
the very oracular
interior of that
openness into which bird
inserts itself. Its song
shortening when
there is wind. Comes
the visible and
its remainder, a
blur, what? Tittering
at lower and lower
luminance. That the
accompaniment might be
sufficiently responsive.

--------

We had a rainy, dark morning -- not that I'm complaining, since the area desperately needed the rain and it was kind enough not to wash out our day at the Renfaire yesterday -- and I had a bunch of paperwork-related chores to do, some of which I discovered I couldn't finish without information from Daniel (the college application process has piles of minutiae, and the "common application" is only partly so). I also had a Shutterfly coupon for ten free holiday cards that had to be used by Monday night, and HalfElfLost had generously given me a code she had for a free photo book, so I spent much of the afternoon working on a book about the rescued bird for Adam.

For most of the rest of the afternoon, I folded laundry and watched Up in the Air -- a movie I had avoided thus far because middle-class male mid-life crisis movies often give me hives, even when they're allegedly well-acted like American Beauty or have nice scenery going for them like Sideways. This one is not as detestable as the former, but it's pathetic and shallow and Clooney at his most charming isn't as good as he was in Syriana, Michael Clayton, etc. In fact, the best performance by far was by Anna Kendrick, who is probably better known for the Twilight films. I was actually hoping Clooney's character had some dark secret in his past -- abuse or a tragic accident -- to explain his pathological self-absorption, but apparently we're supposed to accept it as a not-uncommon lifestyle choice of the smug and overpaid.

We watched this week's Merlin, which has the sense of humor of a ten-year-old boy, which did not stop me from laughing at both Uther and Arthur's headgear at various moments -- small spoilers -- Tony Head in a bald cap is kind of scary, but Bradley James as Bottom in A Midsummer Night's Dream is priceless, particularly braying. The goblin itself bugged me -- a cross between Dobby and some kind of bizarre ethnic creature, though at least this series doesn't have The Lord of the Rings' white skin=good, dark skin=bad problems -- but fine, I can laugh at Morgana having the farts. We had fake chicken and biscuits for dinner and paid some attention to Monday Night Football, but turned it off for Stewart picking on Colbert's congressional testimony.


Hack & Slash prepare to whip a cigarette from the mouth of a volunteer.


The Renaissance Man explains chamberpots on the Lyric Stage.


Local hammered dulcimer virtuoso and Maggie's Music founder Maggie Sansone plays Celtic tunes for incoming Fairegoers.


Bellydancers from Wine & Alchemy share their stage with a young visitor who decided to join them.


Fight School: Reloaded has moved to the Globe Theatre, allowing for a bigger bar brawl.


Michael Rosman, the Squire of the Wire, juggles knives while balancing on a plank on a bowling ball.


The Thane of Glamis and Banquo try to make sense of the witches' (or in this case, witch's) prophecy in Macbeth in 20 Minutes.


One of the Aerial Angels performs above the heads of her audience.