Big and Small
At the end of my drive, I looked up from my bike. There, at the front edge of my across-the-street neighbor's yard, a turkey vulture stood in the shade. Now that is one big bird. I tried to photograph it, but neither it nor my camera cooperated. I managed, however, to shoot the dead squirrel on which it had been dining. (When I return two and a half hours later, nothing of that squirrel remained.) Now that's big.
In Abbo's Alley, I always look down, to avoid tripping on the roots snaking across the pebble walks and to see what's there, waiting. By a small bridge, a red-spotted purple sat, opened, closed, spun slowly around, stretched, a power nap of a kind. It's easy to see why the small butterfly likes this particular forest. With wings closed, it looks like the pebbles, and open its wings disappear in the shadows. Battered but not beaten, the small butterfly performed its magic, then flew off toward the stream.
In Abbo's Alley, I always look down, to avoid tripping on the roots snaking across the pebble walks and to see what's there, waiting. By a small bridge, a red-spotted purple sat, opened, closed, spun slowly around, stretched, a power nap of a kind. It's easy to see why the small butterfly likes this particular forest. With wings closed, it looks like the pebbles, and open its wings disappear in the shadows. Battered but not beaten, the small butterfly performed its magic, then flew off toward the stream.
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