While I'm working on illustrations for a book about the whooping crane, the tallest bird in North America, I take nature breaks to check on the migration progress of our smallest bird. I can see the ruby-throated hummingbird migrants from my window as I type and sometimes I step out into the sunshine to sit for a while. The antics of the juveniles give me a chuckle-break, like when they sit on top of the feeder with their backs straight and tall, soldier-like.
Or other times, leaning back taking in everything around them. And when I look at my images, it never ceases to amaze me that their wings beat faster than the shutter speed.
Visitors to the feeder are thinning out each day as the air is getting colder and the leaves turning to fall hues.
But I don't lack company as I observe. My five-lined skink neighbors frequently join me, sometimes more than one of them, in pursuit of another. Tiny ones no bigger around than a pencil and longer, slightly bigger ones.
Humm...where does this one think he's going?
That's my door...
For the Love of It...
...the sage sees heaven reflected in Nature as in a mirror, and he pursues this Art, not for the sake of gold or silver, but for the love of the knowledge which it reveals.