first daylily blooms of the year
Photo by J. Harrington
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First thing this morning, as I was hanging the bird feeders (June has historically been a prime month for bear visitations), I startled a whitetail doe who headed toward the pear tree; stopped; looked around; and wandered away. What was a little unnerving is that the doe's hair made her appear to be almost blond, or maybe strawberry blond. I've seen few such pale deer in Summer time. (Or in Winter for that matter.) If I didn't have some pictures from years past of pale deer I might think what I saw was actually a ghost deer. Most of our local herd is more a reddish / tan color like the one below.
whitetail doe at pear tree
Photo by J. Harrington
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Earlier this month the Better Half made an interesting discovery near the front hose. If you look carefully at the picture below, you should be able to make out the snake skin that was shed (grayish band between the house and the violet leaves). What's visible in the picture is about half the total length. (I carefully retrieved the whole thing a couple of days after the picture was taken.) I'm full of hope and glee that the snake belonging to the skin (hognose or gopher?) is busily prowling the pocket gopher tunnels in the fields behind the house and having to frequently rest to digest a meal.
shed snakeskin
Photo by J. Harrington
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Snakeskin
Pruning back the old spirea bushesthat sprawled for years in summer's heat,I bared the snake skin, a yard and a half long:its naked empty length rippled in the streaming windlifting its ghostly coils from the dead shootsthat scraped the slough from the slithering bodythat shed it in that narrow, shaded space.I paused—who wouldn't?—shears poised,slipped off gray canvas gloves, extractedthe sere, striated casing from the brown stalksthat had held it, silent, hidden.I coiled the paper-thin curling sheath with care,delicately, eased it into a simple squatty boxfor keeping, for care, for my daughtersto take to school, to show, to explainhow some sinuous body we've never glimpsed,that haunts about our shrubs, our porch,left for us this translucent, scale-scored wrapper,this silent hint of all that moves unseen.
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