It's a mother and child reunion

At the moment, there's a whitetail fawn taking a nap under the pear tree. S/he lay down about an hour ago. No sign of mom yet. I think that's pretty unusual to have fawns and does separated for that long in June. The picture is one of last year's twins taken in late July, since the fawn lying down under the pear tree is totally invisible in the tall grass.

whitetail fawn, late July 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

Shortly before I started writing this post, a bald eagle circled the yard a couple of times, let out a scream or two while circling and moved on. The clover has come into its second flowering (blossoming?). I want to go try to get a decent photo of spiderwort in blooming this afternoon. Much of the penstemon that's been flowering is going to seed, or at least the flowers are turning to seed pods. Last year in the same area, there were many more blooming beardtongues.

beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus), late June 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

I've noticed that the locally nesting baltimore orioles have a calling pattern that, while charming, is repetitive and persistent. They're noisier than and can exceed the repetitiveness of a whip-poor-will in the evening.

(As I was finishing the previous sentence, a young whitetail doe came prancing through the yard. She never went near the pear tree, but she's hanging out just inside the treeline. I'm guessing the fawn may be her first and she hasn't quite got this mothering thingy down just yet. She also needs to learn that a constantly flickering white tail is a a sure attention attractor when the tail's owner is in sun-dappled shadows. Of course, when the attention belongs to a missing fawn that just woke from a nap, all's well that ends in whitetails wagging.)

More Than Enough

By Marge Piercy 

The first lily of June opens its red mouth.

All over the sand road where we walk

multiflora rose climbs trees cascading

white or pink blossoms, simple, intense

the scene drifting like colored mist.

The arrowhead is spreading its creamy

clumps of flower and the blackberries

are blooming in the thickets. Season of

joy for the bee. The green will never

again be so green, so purely and lushly

new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads

into the wind. Rich fresh wine

of June, we stagger into you smeared

with pollen, overcome as the turtle

laying her eggs in roadside sand.

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