A Bonus Out and About For Saturday

I've been thinking about and wanting to go out to Green Valley State Park early some morning to take sunrise photos and get my morning walk in. When I saw this sky, I knew today was the day.

I hurriedly got ready and out the door - stopping along the road only long enough to take a couple snaps of the sky over a cornfield.

Only twenty minutes between the first photo taken at home and this first photo taken at Green Valley Lake.
I *might have* sped through town a teensy bit.
But the sky changes in seconds, I needed to hurry.

The sights were magical and so were the birdsongs.

A sigh of delight as I realized I was getting not only what I came for, but more, oh so much more.

I had the path all to myself but there was at least one fishing boat in every cove within sight.

A hand lifted in silent acknowledgement of another presence as I passed by.

I have so many pictures of the moon on the water and sunsets on the water, but when was the last time I had photos of the sunrise on the water?

I don't even remember.

Muted mauves and gray greens of the milkweed plants.
Soon the Monarch Butterflies will be visiting if they haven't already.
And I will return - to walk and to photograph the butterflies.

Nature has always been my refuge.

Perhaps my love of sunrises now is a link to the girl I was when upon waking I looked out my east bedroom window and watched the sunrise over the barn.

Another new day open to whatever I wanted it to be, unless, of course, Mom had plans for me to help in the garden.

But still there was always time for my daydreaming sunlit pursuits woven in among the chores.

Why a picture of a plucked and drying weed on the path?

Because of its lacy, gray-green leaves.

And because I stay open to possibility.

When I got my pictures imported to the computer I was disappointed that the top spikes of the lavendar Hoary Vervain were out of focus.

But I have decided that against the darkness of the evergreens their glowing purple tops take on almost a mystical attribute.

Oh little bird perched on the bluebird house, what are you with your pip, pip pips? 

It is still too dark for me to tell.

Ah, now that you've flown to the sycamore and you're facing the sunrise I see, you're a beautiful Indigo Bunting.

There is a whole field of Monarda here. It is more lavendar than the two or three plants of deep purple at Lake McKinley.

Headed back to the car now and the clouds have given the sunrise more of a sunset look.

Hopefully they will stick around and keep the heat down today.

One last little bird in the top of a dead tree. Oh my gosh, that looks like a rust throat. Could it it be a bluebird?

Oh, I hope so. That would be the perfect end to my perfect walk.

Zooming in and I see that its chest isn't rust, it's yellow.
And it has a black throat.

This little grassland bunting looks like a miniature meadowlark.

It has been awhile since I've seen one. I remember first sighting them when I lived on the farm and took my morning walks along the same gravel road I had trod to school and back as a child.

Really, when I first saw them I thought they were small meadowlarks. It was awhile before I identified them. I had never heard of a Dickcissel.






I could not have asked for a more perfect morning walk. It was 75° and humid but there was a lovely south breeze.

                                          "What you remember saves you." (W.S. Merwin)