Waxing and Waning ~ The World Around Us ~ Bluebird Broods

There is plenty of spinning, tilting and turning in our vast universe . . . as our world wobbles its way around the sun and our moon waxes and wanes . . . mirroring that center fiery sphere . . . while it sails along its own path marking our monthly ways. Luminosity of a celestial entity casting softness and shadows over a mostly sleeping landscape is quite calming though connected to lunacy. I am puzzled at how wildlife sleeps through all the brightness and it seems those that are preyed upon are more vulnerable. 

Wandering around the light filled night, I find the gardens, fields and forest mysterious and completely a different feeling from that of the daylight world I know so well. Forms stand out more boldly and imagining the numerous nests within the leafy and sometimes flowering branches . . .  I pause and quietly step between the two realms. I am not alone placidly pacing about the moonlit gardens, however. 

Growls penetrate my peace and they are meant for me . . . not the Wild Turkeys balancing in the hemlock or pines above . . . wings ruffling and rubbing against the boughs. Moving black forms are not shrubberies . . . but coyote and bear step before or after my footprints . . . creating quite a chill. A loud clap and stomp from me continues to send those unwelcome yet thrilling forms furtively further into the deeper darkness.

Just before dawn these days, the waning moon is still casting a milky film across the land from its western departure. Towards the east earlier risers may see the stunning show of Venus and Jupiter rising just before the symphony of birdsong begins. 

Each morning brings renewed sipping and dipping activity about the birdbath, though I have yet to capture the many birds who visit here. I am faithful in cleaning and refreshing the basin each day.

Sunlight casts its own magic. 

While walking about in the daylight hours . . .  the gardens today . . .  along with the Bluebirds busyness caring for their second brood . . . offer entertainment and wonder. The Bluebirds have no difficulty beginning this brood . . . but things were not so peaceful earlier in the spring when they began their first . . . 

What is wrong with this picture?

Tree Swallows do not make much fuss really . . . they tend to choose a nestbox out in the north and south fields to raise their young, but there is always temptation. I never see any real jousting between the two . . . the bluebirds do always win with the Tree Swallows.

There are more serious battles between male Bluebirds and it is hard to determine who is who. I would guess the female knows better. 

Things do calm down in April and the male and female Bluebird become very attentive to their young, always eyeing for the many insects about the shrubs and trees and along the garden floor.

Woe to the caterpillars that will never become moths or butterflies. 

Instead of nibbling, flying, flitting and ferreting about the gardens . . .  copious amounts of insects and arachnids build fine fledglings. These two Bluebirds fledglings stay near their former home. The mother Bluebird is inside the nestbox. 

Off to forage.

The parents have ceased to feed the fledglings and come back to their nest box with an incredible array of fresh morsels for their helpless nestlings.

I can now hear the nestlings crying out when the parents light on the nestbox. I hope this time to see the little ones peeking out from the round window and do marvel at what it must be like for them to see the world for the first time . . . beyond their tiny world within the box. 

Provincetown Cape Cod

To arrive in Provincetown, Massachusetts you might sail, fly, or walk as Henry David Thoreau did back in the 1850's... but if you drive you cross over Cap Cod Canal and head towards the tip or 'finger' of what many call 'the right arm of Massachusetts'. You drive around the bent elbow for the last miles and soon begin to see a sweep of white dunes. The tiny town is nestled around Cape Cod Bay and is truly magical in its way. Once a Portuguese fishing village... now and for many years, a renowned artist colony which thrives between the calm bay, expanse of large dunes and the wide and wild Atlantic. Notable painters and writers such as Susan Glaspell, Eugene O'Neill, Charles Webster Hawthorne and Norman Mailer to name but a few, became part time and full time residents lured by the landscape and unique light of Provincetown. These and others were pioneers in founding what later became a famous theatre group and art school. It is enchanting walking along the bay at sunset with the moonrise, as the lights go on along MacMillan Wharf and inside the homes and galleries of the townspeople. The 252 foot Pilgrim Monument stretches up towards the large dome of sky offering great views of the town, as well as the surrounding ocean and harbor. Long Point Lighthouse's shining beacon and white tower seem like a miniature, after eyeing the monument, though tiny in comparison, it sits proudly glowing upon the very tip of Cape Cod. It is interesting to see all the old wooden pillars that are standing up against the rising tides and the various other mediums residents use to keep the bay back. While standing amid this charm and beauty... I make a wish that it always will... and returning home... continue to write and call my President and representatives in Congress, to encourage the passing of a true clean energy bill. Jupiter and the moon grow brighter, as a silver molten path shimmers and grows across the water beneath the near full waxing mirror to our sun. I find joy in the boats swaying back and forth, creating rope to mast music, which accompany the bay sounds slurping to the shore, as I head towards the center, where galleries and a friend await me.