this is me, here.

Vultures

Aaron and I sing a song when we see the black shadows of vultures riding waves of warm air overhead. They appear in silence and move with few to no wing beats as they scour the earth below.  The vultures meet in the sky, responding to an invitation of scent, one that you and I most likely will not notice.

Turkey Vulture Song

It's a turkey vulture meeting

go up in the sky

and fly around. 

It's a turkey vulture meeting

eating

carrion that's on the ground.  

I've also included an older poem by Mary Oliver about these creatures. It's pretty near to perfect, if a poem ever can be. Enjoy.  

VULTURES

By Mary Oliver

Like large dark

lazy

butterflies they sweep over

the glades looking

for death,

to eat it,

to make it vanish,

to make of it the miracle:

resurrection. No one

knows how many

they are who daily

minister so to the grassy

miles, no one

counts how many bodies

they discover

and descend to, demonstrating

each time the earth's

appetite, the unending

waterfalls of change.

No one,

moreover,

wants to ponder it,

how it will be

to feel the blood cool,

shapeliness dissolve.

Locked into

the blaze of our own bodies

we watch them

wheeling and drifting, we

honor them and we

loathe them,

however wise the doctrine,

however magnificent the cycles,

however ultimately sweet

the huddle of death to fuel

those powerful wings.

a little fire, a lot of life

I never thought of fire as life-giving. Some seeds sleep under the soil for years until a fire rips across the land and life inside the seed ignites. The daughter of a boatbuilder and an artist, agriculture was not in my genes, botany only a word I read from time to time. Now living out here in the plains, every person has all of this in their heritage. Just like the lobsterman who leaves at dawn and returns tired and smelling of baitfish, the plainspeople smell of earth, sweat, and smoke. This work makes me think of my sister's favorite poem, "To Be of Use" by Marge Piercy. Love it. 

I helped out with two prescribed burns last week at PPNC. As part of the nature center's mission, burns are done from time to time as prairie restoration and management. A fire done in spring kills off the exotic grasses that green up in cooler weather, wakes up sleeping native seeds, and makes room for the native tall grasses that thrive in the warmer weather. Here are a few shots from the burns. For my Nebraska friends reading this post, thanks for letting this Mainer in.  

seasons

These two photos are saved on my desktop as "Winter Trespasser," and "Spring Trespasser." Spring comes quickly out here and the temps are already in the 80s. I'll take note of the changes around this cedar fence post for you, don't worry.

Early February 2012

Late March 2012

a bit of moisture, then sun

I may have gotten close to a smokey sou'wester this morning in the great plains. You Mainers know that a smokey sou'wester occurs when southwest winds blow off the land and mix with the air flowing over the cold Maine waters, producing a thick but sunny fog, the scent of which I dream of daily -- it's a mixture of pine and salt, heavy with moisture. 

The nature center sits in a slight depression in the surrounding prairies, with a few small ponds dotting the property. As I drove down the road this morning, mist hung on the tall grasses, between the trunks of cottonwoods, and over the still waters of the ponds. I opened my windows and thought of my dad saying, "Mol, this is what we call a smokey sou'wester."

We've had a few warm days here and shorts, t-shirts, and sun block have come out in full force. The ponds are filled with turtles, frogs, and water birds; the paths in the prairie with public school kids on spring break, running and laughing. 

keep growing

Whenever I see these oaks around town, 

I'm reminded of the resilience of all living things. 

Trim it, cut it back, remove a limb, break a branch, but still - 

we reach reach reach up to the sun, to the sky, 

and embrace life, whatever form it takes.

windy on the great plains