Where have all the flowers (I mean critters) gone?
A grasshopper walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey, we've got a drink named after you!"
The grasshopper replies, "Why did you name a drink Bob?"
I used to wake up to the sounds of my frog who thought he was a rooster and lived in the shutters of my bedroom window. Now it's quiet until my chittering wren begins to taunt the resident squirrel. And I would enjoy my second and third cup of coffee under the pergola with my octopus lizard who would rise each morning at 8:30 exactly to greet me. He would then take the same path down the same beam and disappear into the trumpet vine to find his breakfast. The space behind the wooden octopus by my front door now remains vacant.
Every evening if I saw my orb spiders making interesting webs, I would plan on getting up early before they would take them down. Some spiders remove their webs each morning and string a new one each evening. Then I would carefully collect the webs and frame them. (I'll tell you how to do this in a future blog.)
But so far this year, there are none to be found. Then again it's only June. Maybe there will be some late arrivals.
Here's a list of past residents I no longer see. I am sure there are many, many more.
Garden spiders, frightfully large and beautiful
Walking sticks that would hang out by the front door
"Flat" frogs that would stick to everything
Glass lizards by the woodpile near the dune
Carolina Mantis that loved the rosemary bush
Assorted butterflies, all sizes and colors
Quail that would bob up the drive in single file
Snails near the kitchen door
Fox that would show up at 6pm hoping for a dog biscuit by the stump
Hognose snake, flaring his neck like a cobra but playing dead when that didn't scare me
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
And I wake in the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
Rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
Who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
Waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
- Wendell Berry