Reflections on life at The Acres:
I wish I could paint. Some of the pictures I take are lovely (Personal bias), but to be able to paint them would add the permanence of imagination to their beauty and longevity. After all, as someone has said, "A painting is a declaration of love."
My favorite bird sighting at The Acres: Baltimore Orioles. I love the others, but that feathered-friend is just stunning. Two years ago he landed on the hummingbird feeder that was on the door...window. Breathtaking.
I wish I could paint. Some of the pictures I take are lovely (Personal bias), but to be able to paint them would add the permanence of imagination to their beauty and longevity. After all, as someone has said, "A painting is a declaration of love."
My favorite bird sighting at The Acres: Baltimore Orioles. I love the others, but that feathered-friend is just stunning. Two years ago he landed on the hummingbird feeder that was on the door...window. Breathtaking.
I am never less alone than when I am alone at The Acres. In a related heresy, I wonder if I love baseball so much because it is a team game that you play all alone.
My favorite singers at The Acres: The peeper serenade in spring. The bass choir in the pond all summer. The Chickadee rap. The kingfisher has a great one as well. Can anyone out volume a robin? The wood wind moaning in the bare branches of winter. The cymbal solo of a thunderstorm--and the lighting effects aren't bad either. The running brook sounds of a flock of goldfinch. Shadow mouthing off everytime I feed him in the morning or go for a walk that he can't keep up with. The silent whisper of falling snow.
The expectations of spring--I know, today is just the first day of winter.
When my students ask me where I would go I could travel anywhere in the world, I always tell them--Home, at The Acres. I love the old and familiar--and every walk is entirely new.
My favorite singers at The Acres: The peeper serenade in spring. The bass choir in the pond all summer. The Chickadee rap. The kingfisher has a great one as well. Can anyone out volume a robin? The wood wind moaning in the bare branches of winter. The cymbal solo of a thunderstorm--and the lighting effects aren't bad either. The running brook sounds of a flock of goldfinch. Shadow mouthing off everytime I feed him in the morning or go for a walk that he can't keep up with. The silent whisper of falling snow.
The expectations of spring--I know, today is just the first day of winter.
When my students ask me where I would go I could travel anywhere in the world, I always tell them--Home, at The Acres. I love the old and familiar--and every walk is entirely new.
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