Lazy, hazy days of August #phenology

Temperatures in the mid to upper 80's plus humidity: sounds like August in Minnesota. At some point yesterday afternoon, the freshly hatched monarch butterfly flew away. We wish him/her a safe journey. Hummingbirds are piling in to the feeders. Sandhill crane families can be seen in wetlands and freshly harvested fields. Ragweed, goldenrod and hyssop(?) are starting to flower. Have you noticed more and more pre-migration flocks of birds gathering on the phone wires?

sandhill cranes in wetland

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning's waning crescent moon was enchanting as it cast minimal moonlight onto the foggy fields in the neighborhood. The yellow crescent evoked hints of next month's harvest moon. Since the county rebuilt the Highway 36 bridge over the Sunrise River, we've seen few families of Canada geese alongside the road. Perhaps the construction noise and activity a few years ago disturbed them enough that they won't return? Also this year the floating bogs seem to be more abundant and diminishing the open water in the marshes. Lack of geese along the road is safer for both the geese and the drivers, but we do miss having a chance to watch the goslings grow to almost grown by this time of Summer. Ah well, we can still look forward to the Perseids shower this coming weekend.

geese and almost grown goslings

Photo by J. Harrington

August 12 in the Nebraska Sand Hills
Watching the Perseids Meteor Shower

By Twyla Hansen

In the middle of rolling grasslands, away from lights,

a moonless night untethers its wild polka-dots,

the formations we can name competing for attention

in a twinkling and crowded sky-bowl.

Out from the corners, our eyes detect a maverick meteor,

a transient streak, and lying back toward midnight

on the heft of car hood, all conversation blunted,

we are at once unnerved and somehow restored.

Out here, a furrow of spring-fed river threads

through ranches in the tens of thousands of acres.

Like cattle, we are powerless, by instinct can see

why early people trembled and deliberated the heavens.

Off in the distance those cattle make themselves known,

a bird song moves singular across the horizon.

Not yet 2:00, and bits of comet dust, the Perseids,

startle and skim the atmosphere like skipping stones.

In the leaden dark, we are utterly alone. As I rub the ridges

on the back of your hand, our love for all things warm

and pulsing crescendos toward dawn: this timeless awe,

your breath floating with mine upward into the stars.

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