I'm watching a bunch of little birds scavenging in the tall grass below the birdfeeders, their little bird bodies popping up above the grass like popcorn kernels. Some kind of sparrow but I can't tell which kind unless I get the binoculars, which are way over on the other side of the room, and I don't have the energy to reach for them because I'm sick. Not interestingly sick: no fever, no covid, no exotic diagnoses; just the usual summer sinus crud--a little coughing, a little malaise, a lot of congestion. The only thing that makes me feel better is to go out on the back deck and sit in the dry heat with the sun blazing on my back, but I can't stay out there all day, not to mention at night.
One recent night--Friday, maybe?--I got up in the wee hours for a coughing fit and came out to the living room so I wouldn't wake up the hubby (who could sleep through a freight train crashing into our bedroom, but never mind). I was sitting on the sofa and looking out the window when suddenly I saw something looking back. Raccoons! Two of them, juveniles, very interested in the plants on the front porch. They kept climbing up to look in the window but didn't seem to know what to make of what they saw, and then one of them climbed up the brick wall all the way to the porch's ceiling. How did it hold on? Clever little beasties.
They've been quite a pain this summer, knocking down birdfeeders and rooting up plants, and they're not the least bit intimidated by my husband's frequent attempts to scare them off with a slingshot or air rifle. I can coexist with the raccoons until they start eating our corn, but since we're a little behind on the gardening this summer, we've got a while to wait before we go into total war mode.
Another day I saw a different visitor on the porch--a giant leopard moth, which a friend suggested ought to be called a coloring-book moth. I love those subtle blue spots livening up the black-and-white palette. In the distance I can see that the bottlebrush buckeye is finally blooming, and my goal for tomorrow is to summon the energy to walk out there and look for hummingbird moths.
Right now, though, I'm happy to sit here and let the world come to me, but that won't work later in the week. We're leaving Thursday for a road trip to Florida for my father's memorial service, and we have an awful lot to do before we leave. Like painting the house. Well, not the whole house, but the main living areas--entry, hallways, living room, dining room, kitchen. We've been taping up woodwork for days and finally this morning we started slapping on the paint. My contributions to the project were punctuated by trips outside to sit in the sun and clear up my congestion. Tape up some woodwork, sit in the sun. Roll paint on a wall, sit in the sun. It's not the most efficient method of painting but I made it work.
Eventually we reached the point where all the remaining sections required either more manual dexterity or longer arms than I've ever possessed, so I wrapped myself in a blanket, sipped hot herbal tea, and supervised my husband from a distance. He doesn't need my help to paint the most intricate details, but it made me feel useful.
Tomorrow we'll pull off all the tape and move the furniture back where it goes, because right now my house is labyrinth that might well have a minotaur in the middle, growling for supper. Wait, maybe that's me. I could be stuck in here a long time if no one shows me the way out. Where are those clever raccoons when I need 'em?
Giant Leopard Moth. Note the tiny blue dots on the top of its head.
No comments:
Post a Comment