6 July 2009

I am blessed with yet another cool morning. The Whip-poor-will is still singing--perhaps he enjoys this weather too. For the past three mornings there has been an almost raspy cry coming from high in the trees. It's almost hawk-like. As I work my way through the sub-climax forest I'm sure I'll see who's voice this is. A silhouette reveals an ear-less owl. He shrieks again, turns to look at me, and silently flies to another post. I continue on my way. I can only guess a Barred owl based on the size and shape--though I've never heard them cry this way. Only the 'who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?' typical inquiry.

Dew helps collect sand on my pant legs. There is no wind.

This trail has seemingly eroded over the past ten years. If something short like a coyote were to walk by, it would surely be hidden by the tall grasses lining the trail. I sit in the field anyway and hope someone will decide to use the dune across from me. A pair of chickadees work a nearby pine. Sparrows visit a clump of bayberry with pieces of grass dangling from their beaks. Surely they're finding a place to call home.

Hours pass and I decide to quit. Upon returning to the trail I find it riddled with what are certainly puppy tracks. The gait is smaller, and the foot as well. When they were here I cannot be sure--but there was rain last night which wiped the trail clean. I'm thankful that they are still here, and hope to have luck again tomorrow.