By Michael Suchorsky
The constant work today has me missing the first half of the slow transition from day to night. In fact, growing darkness arriving on the coattails of my dinner on the deck has just moved me indoors. I decide to sit at the computer but instead of checking emails I have started typing. . . this.
Despite my late arrival observing the dusk transition, it is still quite fulfilling. I love the timely transitions of birdsong as well as their activity. I saw Baltimore orioles visiting blossoms. This was followed by the ruby throated hummingbird’s ramped-up visits to the feeders—building up energy reserves for the cool night. There were at least 4 of them this evening bobbing around the two feeders a few feet from me. While they were dining I watched silent catbirds moving about. As most of the birds began to fall silent the veery and hermit thrush continued to sing on. Finally only the robins continued vocalizing. With the completion of the robin’s fugue, catbird songs erupted from all over the property. They were slowly joined by bullfrogs, peepers and crickets, who in turn took sole possession of the night with minor movements of the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
The evening symphony.
These observations of this beautiful, peaceful, fulfilling time of day now stirred (not shaken) with a glass of wine, brought forth an inner dialog, and a feeling of sharing with others, embracing of others’ love, or am I just becoming talkative. Click, click, click on the keyboard.
In this time of wholeness, I think of that verse of Jimi Hendrix, “Not necessarily stoned…but beautiful.” That is absolutely true but being “experienced” by observation of the natural world.
I am, in fact part of the transition, right along with thrush and catbird song, hummingbirds’ dart, rabbits’ eyes and ears attentively twitching to incoming information from all directions, the slow yet deliberate trudge across the front yard of the resident porcupine looking for a tree on which to sharpen its teeth.
The sky sparkles. The moon begins to edge over Perch Lake Mountain. Two coyotes begin to sing.
My part of the symphony is in my eyes, in thoughts evoked.~