"In the night...the scream of the rabbit is terrible. But the scream of the owl which is not of pain and hopelessness and fear of being plucked out the world, but of the sheer rollicking glory of the death-bringer, is more terrible still. When I hear it resounding through the woods, and then the five black pellets of its song dropping like stones into the air, I know I am standing on the edge of the mystery, in which terror is naturally and abundantly part of life, part of even the most becalmed, intelligent, sunny life--as for example, my own. The world where the owl is endlessly hungry and endlessly on the hunt is the world in which I live, too. There is only one world."
Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures

Tuesday, January 8, 2019


Solitary Sandpipers are always alone, they are .... solitary. On the other hand, the smallest sandpipers, the Least Sandpipers, find comfort in numbers and closeness, both on the ground and in the air, almost like schooling fish. 

This morning they covered the mud flat shore and shallows of a pond at Estero Llano. 100? 150? A lot? I was watching the little feathered mice when in a sudden explosion of tiny wingbeats they all flew, turning and wheeling in unison through the sky to the far shore. The couple of dozen laggards who failed to get the word, regrouped and went back to work probing the mud for insects and small crustaceans.

Stay warm, be well. - Gunnar

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