Nature

One of the things I love the most about nature is the intricacy of the migratory patterns of birds and their resolution to maintain them for breeding purposes.

Seventeen years ago this area was regularly habitated by the whip-poor-will, a small dusky colored nocturnal bird who spends its winters in Mexico or other tropical climes and then travels here to breed, usually arriving here between mid-March to early May depending on the weather.

Take The Kids To Visit The Buzzards Bay Animal Rescue-type People This Week...

My people and I did a visit to the NMLC on Main Street in Buzzards Bay this weekend.

Every now and then and especially at this time of year, a fit of wandering into unchartered places seizes me and suddenly I find myself overtaken with a sense of adventure and all that is unfamiliar.

Fortunate enough to have access to acres of undeveloped forest, I don my hiking boots, grab clipping shears and camera and set out to blaze a new trail after a trip to the city has rendered me starved for the things that only nature can provide me.

The Great Seal Hunt To Start This Summer

Environmentalists across the world are aghast at a new policy issued by the Barnstable County Sheriff's Office that seeks to solve several coastal problems via a mass culling of our seal population.

As pristine as it may be, poetic appraisals of the morning landscape have run their due course and most of us have apparently prematurely stored the snow shovels and snow blowers away in some foolish optimism of no longer needing them to employ methods of getting out of our houses and driveways.

Optimism only goes so far and the weather is annoying everyone at this point other than the birds and squirrels. Nothing seems of much interest to anyone right now other than for the yellow dog with the red bandana who came to visit this morning.

On my way to the supermarket, the last thing I expected to encounter sitting on my front steps was a friendly canine with brown eyes reflecting an unearthly zeal and a tail flying enthusiastically like a flag.

The sun made a rare and welcome appearance yesterday and many of us seized the opportunity to break from the confines of the four walls which have shackled us too long and headed on a wandering.

For me, the scope of the dunes always lures me when a fit of cabin fever has taken me too far away from all that most inspires me.

The desert has always been revered for its mysticism but here on Cape Cod we have the rare blend of desert and sea, the majestic slope of dunes intermingling with a cobalt stretch of water that never ceases to raise your sights.

I could have sworn I saw the monkeys from the Wizard of Oz swirling thru the sky last night in the gales up on this hill, proof of my being either storm overloaded or merely losing it, probably a combo of both.

The first thing I did this morning is salute the towering trees who managed to withstand another battering.

The second thing I did was wish I had taken advantage of an invitation to go to Florida, a place I customarily pretend to disdain in order to pad my case for being a true diehard of winter in the Northeast.

The first time I saw the swan I thought surely it must be some angel napping, its white feathers much too pure for this earth and its repose much too tranquil.

The second time I saw the swan it was hoisted to its webbed feet and its long graceful neck was stretched high to the sky as it hissed at a fisherman who neared the spot on the embankment where upon it was resting.

"She can't fly" emitted a voice from behind where I stood at the edge of the creek as I turned to see an elderly woman clutching a plastic bag standing behind me.

On some still night when the air is as sharp as a carving knife and a pristine silence hugs the snow while a bright moon illuminates the darkness you might be fortunate enough to hear him.

He's bloodthirsty and ruthless by reputation.  He's also courageous and wise enough to have been made the guardian of the palace of the ancient Greek goddess Athena. As a symbol of her supernal wisdom.

Great horned owl, a 24 inch tall and 60 inch wing span dynamo.  Predatory and voracious, his appearance and bravado have earned him a reputation.

As the zephyr wind shook all the trees in the forest and cut like a surgeon's blade, again I heard the sound of branches cascading to the earth.

The tree men are being comfortably sustained this winter with the wake of storms behind us -- and certainly more to come; more nights have resonated of something out of Dorothy's Kansas in the Wizard of Oz than I can enumerate at this point.

According to the weatherman, the NAO has gone negative, the PNA towards positive -- which means we could be in for some stormy weeks ahead.

This, however, is a secondary consideration considering the morning's events.  Specifically, the cat named Crazy Jane, so appointed by the MSPCA years ago when they failed to manage the abandoned cat's behavior, has made some new friends.