Nature in the city: as the season turns
October 22 dawns cloudy and heat, my favorite type of colorful autumn day. On the cove, the male swan flies noisily to his mate. As their lone grey cygnet looks on, they meet, like fanatics, invoice to bill, creating a heart shape with their heads and necks.
The place is lush with lifestyles. Small turtles cover every stump and outcrop, like clams hooked up to a rope of seaweed, all in a row. Their vivid shells gleam in the sunlight they so crave. Their color is platinum, reflected in the still water.
On a significant branch out in the cove stands a high-quality blue heron. And in my compact binoculars, I rapidly see a small duck with a rusty ruffed head, unmistakably the feminine hooded merganser, right here early for the iciness migration from the Arctic. She preens together with her mate. Meanwhile, our nearby ospreys have yet to migrate south; they have got been spotted not too long ago.
The heron takes off, flies on excellent wings over the road in silhouette, even as a 2nd fowl swoops around the cove. They make sudden raucous and difficult-sounding calls as they fly.
Sunday, I see certainly one of our bald eagles on a stumpy lifeless tree, which has jagged short branches, like witches’ arms. The colossal hen stands out in opposition to a clear sky, like an artwork installation, unmoving.
At the Moody street Bridge, below the waterfall, there’s a new small bird, mild brown on top, its underside white. It appears like some style of plover, strolling over the rock slab. It heads into the frenzy of water like a sandpiper on the shoreline, poking its beak down many times, except it abruptly disappears.
At the Codman property in Lincoln, I stroll over to a fenced subject to discover alpacas in a style of colours, from beige to darkish brown. All of them stop and stare, then most return to grazing, except for one fluffy-faced animal with massive eyes and a smiling mouth. The balmy breeze incorporates falling leaves, and as I stroll in a grassy lea, I appear up to see a beautiful one overhead. However it is a lone monarch, flying practically the ground, then gliding high, circling the entire discipline, and touchdown in a bush. Aromas of autumn fill the air.
On the Mount Feake Cemetery, i’m surrounded through a symphony of oranges, with staccato deep oranges, underneath a sky streaked with dark clouds. One giant maple takes on that eerie color in opposition to a now stormy sky. The tree spreads out, as it has no bounds of buildings; it stretches, expands, in all this area. One hot fall day, geese take refuge at its base, in the colour. A sunny inexperienced hillside exercises long shadows of tree trunks and gravestones.
The swans’ habits on the river and within the cove has transformed. 5 white swans at Woerd Avenue take off, fly close to the river across the bend, in a group. I meet up with them on the cove, the place two fly very low over my moon roof. They are pure white. Then I see the youngest cygnet of all, within the loved ones of three, fly! Mothers and fathers now nip gently at offspring, almost certainly encouraging them to fledge.