Finished pair of Opal socks that had been languishing for quite a while. Chosen from other ufos by color mood. No label manifested, but Opal self-patterning sock yarns are all interesting in some way. Stress-free plain ole sock knitting that ends up anything but plain ole. Great travel companions on planes, cafes, park benches - and trains if I ever took one.
I tumble outside during a brief lull in editing, juggling eyeglasses, camera, cellphone, remote phone (waiting for critical calls), to seek out the perfect photo backdrop. The dog doesn't budge from his favorite place under the bench. He watches hopefully - will this action involve him? It doesn't. Wind and sun shadows play tricks with the light, no camera setting is satisfactory. I get pulled into apple blossom and lilac themes. We seem to miraculously have the only blooming lilacs in the whole county! Just one bush nestled against the protective, warm adobe wall. There is definitely a dearth of lilacs up here this spring.
No sign at all of apricot blossoms on the leafing-out tree. Another trick. Flowers never even had a chance to bloom and freeze! Apparently nipped in the bud! The tree has become a friendly meeting place for sparrows who create a pleasant chirpy background chorus outside the window of my workroom. I'm grateful for the meadowlarks and finches and their melodic rackets, too. I think I'm even growing fond of the wind's moaning voices. And that wren in town who I saw pull out a gigantic (for it) piece of insulation from the broken end of a signpost. Its nest will be cushiony, warm, and hopefully roomy enough for the fledglings. And I remember,
a bird story
For years, a swallow couple returned annually to built an adobe mud nest around the light at our back door. The light is small, the nest was small. In a few weeks, four long-necked largish fledglings would appear, screeching with wide open beaks that looked like Joker smiles. At some point, the strong spring winds would swirl up into the portal and blow them out of the nest before they'd learned to fly. I dreaded the day when I'd walk out the door and find four tiny lifeless bodies on the concrete walk - the parents chirping frantically nearby. One year we watched for the couple's arrival and chased them away with lots of noise and banging of pie plates. It took several tries, but they finally left to build somewhere else and have never returned. We learned this foolproof method when one spring day, literally hundreds of swallows suddenly enveloped our house and started frantically building nests. It was creepy and very "Birds". I called a nature center for advice. "Pie plates, pot covers", they advised, "make as much noise as possible." Ron and I were a duet version of the parade that Christopher Robin and friends had with pots, pans, wooden spoons. The swallows flew away in a disappointed swoop. The remnants of the last nest still clings to the light, but we are warned by the elders that to remove a swallow's nest brings bad luck. So there it stays, unoccupied, until nature reclaims it completely.
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