From the back garden, a California poppy. I planted a single pot of a red variety in the front yard, and the standard blaze orange in the back a hundred feet away. The bees got to work. Some of the orange poppies in the back now bear thin red stripes, the genes of a few stray pollen grains bleeding into their petals.
Since I walked among the tule elk in April I have watched ridgelines, waiting for the shapes of animals to appear atop them. This week crossing the Golden Gate I headed into the Waldo Tunnel, the long grassy slope of the headlands above angling down toward Sausalito. I scanned the silhouette of the hill. I told myself I’d see nothing. It was as if I had thought I’d bring an animal to that brow of earth just by looking for it.
And then she was there, a pair of ears flicking a hundred feet above me, cool coyote eyes watching the traffic below her on 101.
“It was as if I had thought I’d bring an animal to that brow of earth just by looking for it.
And then she was there, a pair of ears flicking a hundred feet above me, cool coyote eyes watching the traffic below her on 101.”
Sounds to me like you’re looking into the rabbit hole, Mr. C. You’d best be careful. My experience is that it’s far deeper than it first appears.
I think he may be some Emmersonian transcendentalism he’s on. Dangerous for sure.
Cool. You might guess that I am a fan of the idea of more nature posts. :)
Happy quincentennial post.