Sunday, May 31, 2015

Iris Blooming

I noticed when we came home from erranding the other day that the irises on the side of the house are blooming.  Iris are so pretty, aren't they?  I like their fuzzy little throat.  I need to find me some old-fashioned ones to plant, the two-tone purple ones with the yellow fuzzy throat like Grandma had.  She called them "flags," I don't know why.

I went out right before sundown to take their pictures and saw the moon up in the nearly clear sky.  It didn't show up well on here but those wispy clouds were pale pink.

There was a mess of mud spot and grass on the porch and I looked up to see a robin had tried, once again, to build a nest on top of the front light.  It never works, but she or he keep trying and I keep knocking it down and sweeping up the failures.  For once both of the birdhouses on the patio are in business, one with chickadees and the other with sparrows.  All of the parents are working overtime bringing fat pale green worms back to fill hungry beaks.

May 31--Jack Dykinga, Lightning; Organ Pipe Cactus, AZ.  The sky and the light were orange.  Rita had never seen orange light like that.  At sunrise and sunset, sure, she had seen the clouds on the horizon turn orange but never light that turned the whole world orange.  There was lightning in the west too.  She pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and dug her camera out of its bag.  When she stepped out of the car she felt the electricity in the air.  A semi blasted by, its horn wailing, and its slipstream pelted her with dust and stones.  Her plan was to take a few shots and then drive out of the storm's path.  She took her photos and was on her way to her car when a bold of lightning hit the road just ahead of her car, blasting apart the roadway, and knocking her back into the cactus along the shoulder.

It's a breezy day and the forsythia branches are scraping the siding and banging on the a/c housing.  Seems like a good time to go out there with my lopping shears and do a bit of trimming.  I love going to play with sharp things.  Later.

1 comment:

Aunt B said...

An egret returns every year and attempts to build a nest on the canopy of Paul's boat. Very persistent -- but so is he. Has to go down there with a rake and push all these big branches into the water. Some birds are so determined -- but then so are some of us humans!!! Pretty iris. We called them flags too.