"There's something about a warm summer night where all the boundaries of the world seem to fall to the softness of moonlight and crickets..." - Craig D. Lounsbrough
I heard the crickets last night, while the Cat Plant snored away in his pot. They lulled him to sleep, while ancient grasses waved in the dark breeze.Mist, and sunset blended as one, through the smoke from far away. The air smelled of burnt embers, old cigarettes, forest fires brought to life, threatening to choke this quiet world. But the crickets chirped on, in their monotonous chorus, never ceasing.Most of the roses hung heavy like perfumed paper mache . the last of their kind. The last of the summer ones. They died a little in the heat , that ever present scorching heat , swathed in perspiration. The cricket song pierced the night, and the roses slept.On they droned .
Making music to sooth.But the bees. Oh the bees were quite happy. Soaked in pollen as they laboured from flower to flower. Oblivious to the crickets. Oblivious to the human trying to stroke their yellow drenched fuzz. They just buzzed sleepily."If their song does not somehow lull us to a softer sleep, then we have become deaf ..." -Craig D. Lounsbrough
The world is a softer, gentler place . The sound of the crickets pulls us in. Brings us into the warmth that staggers the mind.I heard the crickets. In the morning, noon and night. I heard them loud as day and night. But I have never seen them. Invisible titans of late summer.Morning sky pales
Evening sky looms.
I heard the crickets in my day dream. I wonder if they pray for rain. To release the scent of dry earth to be deluged in glorious rain. I wonder if they know. I wonder if that's why they sing.And yet, another Cat plant sleeps while crickets call. They sing their songs in swarms. Melodies that soften the days and fills the nights with quiet promise. I heard the crickets....."I slept alongside the souls I'd never known. as the stars sparkled overhead like glitter, and the crickets sang their song..." - Meagan Church
Photographs 2023
“Your growing antlers,' Bambi continued, 'are proof of your intimate place in the forest, for of all the things that live and grow only the trees and the deer shed their foliage each year and replace it more strongly, more magnificently, in the spring. Each year the trees grow larger and put on more leaves. And so you too increase in size and wear a larger, stronger crown.”― Felix Salten, Bambi's ChildrenHe came to us a year ago. With his brother. The two of them . Always together. Always eating seeds from the seed pan. Then they must have gone their separate ways. Only he comes now. So serene. So beautiful. So unafraid. His antlers swathed in brown velvet. His eyes like dark chocolate wafers. Never challenging. We called him "Nom Nom", cause he eats like he has never eaten anything before. It never bothers me what he eats out of the garden. It will grow again. And if not. Then I can plant more.In the spring, he comes in the morning, when Mount Washington Range is purple.In the summer, the range is hazy yellow in summer with the fire smoke that hangs over us. In the winter, he comes when skies are icy blue, and a promise of snow.Chewing is his favourite past time.You can hear him nibbling even from a distance. His yummiest treats are nettles, salmon berries and ivy, with a few roses thrown in for good measure.He loves wild rose bushes, chomping the leaves with gusto. He starts at one end of the garden and slowly makes his way. He is much more gentle in pulling off rose heads. His eyes close as he savours each and every bite. Ahhhhhhh! His eyes glaze over in contentment as he slobbers each one. When he gets to the beans he lays down amongst them. Crushing. Rolling.Then he chews in every direction he can reach. Lovely sweet snacks. He sleeps. He must feel safe here. He must feel at home.When his three or four hour nap is up, he decides he is hungry again.He pulls on the ferns, ripping leaves from their fine stalks. He stares in the big glass doors. Ferns dripping from his mouth as he looks at us. Curious and curiouser.When twilight falls he is still here. Standing in the big grey tub of water I have by the back door. Splash. Splash. He delicately scratches his nose with a hoof and sneezes.He drinks his fill then shakes his velvety head. It has been a good day.The summer is hot. He will always find sanctuary here. He will always be welcome.Even the cats are not afraid of him. He watches them go about their lives. They watch him.And he is off again. Into the night. Into the orange sunset. Serene and quiet into the darkness. But he will return, looking for more lovely things, and we will look for him ....Photographs 2023
"Let us dance in the sun, wearing flowers in our hair..." -Susan Polis Schutz
"I think it's beautiful the way you sparkle..." -Atticus Poetry
"There is nothing prettier in the whole wide world..." -Atticus Poetry
"Hidden in the glorious wildness like unmined gold." -John Muir
"He contemplated the wildness about him..." -Cormac McCarthy
"The end of the road is the beginning of the wild unknown.." -L.M. Browning
"A free spirit that cannot be chained to the ground.." -Samiha Totanji
"Don't hide your wild. Live it." -Rafy Rohaan
"Live without fear. This is life amongst the deer." -Katelyn S. Bolds
Photographs 2023
