Even if it had been by candlelight

The interior least tern (Sterna antillarum athalassos) is an endangered species.  Changes to riparian habitats where the birds nest, pollution affecting fish populations, human activity around breeding and nesting sites, the building of reservoirs and the diversion of waterways, and accumulating chemicals from runoff resulted in a catastrophic decline of these terns throughout North America.  Thankfully, Dallas hosts one of the few remaining sites in Texas where the birds breed and rear their young before returning to the coast for winter.  And it just so happens that White Rock Lake is one of their favorite haunts.

Interior least terns (Sterna antillarum athalassos) sharing a fish in courtship (2009_07_31_028175)

Though the birds remained far out at the edge of the water theater behind the Bath House Cultural Center, and though the sun had already set and dusk was quickly giving way to nightfall, I stood back some distance from the shore[1] and watched a pair of these terns.

Interior least terns (Sterna antillarum athalassos) flying from their perch (2009_07_31_028174)

Much to my delight, they gifted me with a view of the very sweet courtship ritual called “fish flight”[2]: “an aerial display involving aerobatics and pursuit, ending in a fish transfer on the ground between two displaying birds.”  The female would find a perch on one of the many theater platforms and call out to the male; meanwhile, he flew back and forth, eventually diving into the shallows.  Each time he succeeded in capturing food, he’d return to his mate and proffer it gently.[3]

Interior least terns (Sterna antillarum athalassos) sharing a fish in courtship (2009_07_31_028184)

When she accepted the gift, he would celebrate with wings held out and head held high.  So late in the season, this part of their courtship is intended to strengthen their existing bond as opposed to wooing a new mate.

Interior least terns (Sterna antillarum athalassos) sharing a fish in courtship (2009_07_31_028194)

They repeated this time and again[4], and each time he would flit into the air afterward to hunt some more while she would soar to a different perch to dine on the delivered meal.

Interior least terns (Sterna antillarum athalassos) sharing a fish in courtship (2009_07_31_028195)

It could not have been a more delightful and romantic display.

— — — — — — — — — —

Notes:

[1] This species is notoriously sensitive to human activity and presence, so much so that simply by being near them we interfere with their ability to court, mate, nest, and brood and raise young.  Rather than stand at the edge of the water where I would be much closer with a better view, I chose to keep my distance out of respect for them and their absolute need to be away from us.  Hence the poor quality of the photos, especially since it was after dark.

[2] Via Texas Parks and Wildlife Department.

[3] I admit at the time I took these photos that I assumed I was watching a parent feeding a child.  Distance and lack of light conspired against me having a clear view of them.  It wasn’t until I got home and processed the images that I saw both were in breeding plumage—which completely negated the possibility of either of them being young enough for parent feeding.

[4] Each of the photos shows a different fish gifted to the female by the male, hence he caught at least five while I watched.  Then it became too dark to see them.

Monarch

Um…  Oh.  My.  Gawd.

Not only is his music style warm and brilliant and comforting, a change from the boring sameness of so much garbage put forth today, but his voice rests against the ears like a lover’s whisper.

Wow…

Oh, and there’s more to share about Matt Alber.

Learning to hunt

From across the bay I see it.

Yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) standing near shore across the bay (2009_08_15_028344)

Eyes half closed as if drifting somewhere betwixt waking and sleeping.  Standing amongst the verdant splendor that defines the confluence.  Facing into a summer morning with the same lazy feel that defines my walk.

And as it sits still, I kneel and watch it, let its stoic stance become me, feel its calmness as though it is my own.  Fifteen minutes pass before I realize neither of us has moved.

Finally, with not too small a bit of regret in my heart, I stand and continue my walk.

Much sweat and time pass as I journey along the creeks and away from the lake.

The floodplain feels lonely, a barren green world circumnavigated by people busy with their runs and bike rides and walks and other human affairs.  When a cottonmouth sunning in the grass slithers toward the brush as I approach, I stop and watch, the camera forgotten momentarily so I can see—truly see.

No one else would notice.  The snake deserves at least my full attention, its dark gray form punctuated by a light belly that shows when it turns, an underline of chalk for its blackboard form.

When at last the reptile vanishes and the reeds close upon its escape, I move on.

Crossing over Dixon Branch and turning back toward the lake transports me to a different world, a place where sunshine struggles to reach through the trees, where ligneous arms and vibrant foliage hold back the morning.

I let my feet carry me slowly along the bank, above the water, and I focus on little save enjoying a universe of splendor meant just for me.

Barn swallows flit about and speak a language I do not understand.  But I listen anyway, watch them, allow them to lull me to a restful place.

Titmice and chickadees scamper from limb to limb chattering all the while.

Somewhere in the distance a red-shouldered hawk calls out, a piercing cry slicing the day asunder.

I am barely aware of the passing horde of people, the comings and goings of those who do not see and do not hear.  Somewhere in places they travel but do not touch lies that realm that so enamors me, that can so fully occupy my mind and soul that I lose myself in it.

The raucous yammering of a kingfisher wrests me from my dreamworld, its voice approaching then receding as it flies past me traveling along the waterway.  I turn in time to see it race around the edge of the woodlands and back toward the bay.

Moving along the forest wall that is so familiar to me, I pause to enjoy the interminable descent of an evergreen bagworm, its slow falling on a strand of silk so mesmerizing and deceptive, as though it is an unmoving thing around which the rest of the world crawls.  Each simple breeze pushes it to and fro like a gale, and yet it keeps going, keeps moving toward a ground it cannot see, a forever journey from tree to earth.

Then movement far away catches my attention, something seen yet not seen, something in the periphery of space, a dance of shadows and light.  So I turn and look.

Juvenile yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) standing in the shadows (2009_08_15_028388)

It is the same but different, a child of that which came before.  It wears the colors of youth.

It takes me but a moment to find its parent, the guide on this journey to learn, the protector and teacher for one so young.

Yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) standing in a field (2009_08_15_028424)

Together they hunt the bounty of this field: ground skinks and green anoles, garter and grass snakes, grasshoppers and katydids, leopard frogs and Texas toads, and a laundry list of delectable tidbits that any heron would enjoy.

An adult and a juvenile yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) walking through a field (2009_08_15_028413)

They seem not to mind my approach.  At least not too much.  Though I admit I understand them, know what they fear, comprehend their behavior such that I minimize the threat I pose by invading their feast.

Yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) hunting in a field (2009_08_15_028408)

All the while, the unaware masses saunter by oblivious to this shared hope for offspring, this example of parenthood manifest on a sunny day in a field where so many will pass without seeing.  For what hope does nature distill in every parent save that for the safety and longevity of children?  Yet humans fail to appreciate it when it comes from anything other than another human.

Juvenile yellow-crowned night-heron (Nyctanassa violacea) hunting in a field (2009_08_15_028427)

So I alone witness what should be celebrated.  I alone…

And my thoughts wander back to that heron across the bay.  Suddenly its drowsy appearance makes sense, at least in my mind.  I tell myself that it spent the night tending to the child and found in the quiet of the morning bay a bit of solace as its mate took the child under its wing so it could learn to hunt.

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos are of yellow-crowned night-herons (Nyctanassa violacea).

Opening gifts

I knew my original pile of photos to post went back to the beginning of 2008; therefore, I started with photos taken on January 1 of that year.  From that time through the present, there are 71,847 images consuming 574 GB of space.  To say it’s been tedious and tiring having to go through them again is to understate the matter entirely.

Yet I’ve already completed restoring and reprocessing pictures up to May 17, 2009.  My ‘working set’ feels more like home again, a place to visit for inspiration and items to share.

I’ll admit I’ve wielded a blunt instrument in the restoration.  One thing I noticed as I waded through the vast collection was that I recognized so many duplicate scenes that had originally been set aside for posting.  Really, how many pelican landings do you want to look at?  And mockingbirds? And dandelions and clouds and yadda yadda yadda?

It’s one thing to post recent discoveries like that, but these dated all the way back to early 2008.  I had set them aside at one time thinking they were worth posting, then I had captured more of the same during ensuing jaunts in nature, some of which found their way here but most of which wound up resting in the pile of things to post later.  Finding them this way allowed me to purge the repetition in light of newer snapshots and future findings.

The fun part of this laborious endeavor has been the sense of discovery.  I haven’t looked at some of these photos in a long time.  I’ve come across things I meant to identify, hidden gems lurking in the shadows, goodies I’d forgotten about, and items I’d tossed away at one time but found newly interesting during this review.

For example, on April 19 of this year I visited the rookery at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas.  It was a cloudy day, dark and overcast and windy.  Flitting about in the deep shadows was this orange-crowned warbler (Vermivora celata).

Orange-crowned warbler (Vermivora celata) perched on a branch (2009_04_19_016184)

At the time I couldn’t tell what it was because I stood too far away, and the nondescript bird stayed in the verdant foliage where what little light the day offered could not penetrate.  That its plumage matched the surroundings made it all the more difficult to photograph.  Nevertheless, I was pleasantly surprised to see it had sat still long enough for one portrait.

Something else small and camouflaged flitted about the deep recesses of the motte, something which on that day scampered about the understory making brief appearances as it searched the ground cover for a meal.

House wren (Troglodytes aedon) lurking in the brush (2009_04_19_016170)

This secretive house wren (Troglodytes aedon) moved like a ghost, a shadow hiding in a sea of shadows.  I followed it carefully, trying to maneuver into a closer, better position, but I might as well have been trying to jump over the moon.  The little critter would step into the open for a moment or two before vanishing again, then it would show up further down the path where I’d have to rush to catch up.  This game lasted several minutes before I accepted the futility of my pursuit.

It was at that very moment that something caught my attention, something seen peripherally as it galloped along the path toward me.  Before I looked, I first thought it must be a cat trotting beneath the spring canopy.  I turned and faced it.

Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana) running along a path (2009_04_19_016206)

Oblivious to my presence, this Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana) ran headlong toward me.  I swung the camera up and snapped a photo knowing it had already realized I was standing there.  It halted in its tracks and looked at me for but a second, then it turned and disappeared into the brush alongside the trail.

None of these photos will win an award, mind you, but they’re the kind of neat surprises I’ve enjoyed finding as I’ve worked through this whole laptop rebuild.