My Morning View

Our little piece of the lake behind Doright Manor is my happy place. From my favorite spot on the sofa I watch the day unfold.

If you look closely you can see one of two fairy houses in the bottom right hand corner. The fairies are stealthy, though, and we only get glimpses of their daily activities.

Occasionally a snowy egret sweeps low over the lake. A pair has nested here every year since we moved in, and most likely long before that.

We haven’t spotted an alligator yet this year, but I’m always watching for the telltale bubbles.

Fish jump, turtles perch on logs, and frogs, who are quiet right now, have a concert scheduled tonight and every night this summer.

Lizards provide entertainment for my cats. They climb the window screens, secure in the knowledge that their furry nemeses are stuck inside on this late spring morning.

Oh, let’s not forget the snakes. We’ve seen a few this year, but the birds and the squirrels give us warning. I click to the squirrels and whistle to the birds.

Who’d have ever thought a girl who grew up in the dry, dusty Texas panhandle would ever get to live in such a place? Certainly not me. It’s heaven.

Peace, people.

Forest Storm

Skies darken, winds howl

Acorns fall before raindrops

Squirrels take cover

Deep blue framed window

Mute witness across the lake

Watch the storm with me

Thunder fills the gap

After expectant silence

Lightning left behind

I sat on the screened in porch yesterday afternoon as a storm moved in over the lake. The blue window in the middle picture took on the appearance of a face when I looked at it closely. Then, the bottom photo has a somewhat sinister appearance. See if you can find what I’m talking about. It freaked me out a bit.

Oh, and as I finished typing that last bit we had a very close lightning strike followed by an instant house-rattling clap of thunder. Scout (our cat) and I made a hasty retreat into the house. Whew!

Peace, people!

Oldie #3: Rower’s Remorse


My husband, Studly Doright, and I recently purchased a home, Doright Manor, on a small lake near Tallahassee, Florida. We are not lake people. We are Texas panhandle people, born and raised in the dry, dusty plains and ill-prepared to handle any body of water larger than the occasional rain puddle.

When we bought our lake home we both envisioned rowing hither and yon around our lake for hours on end, working those muscles that spend too many hours typing on a keyboard and too few doing actual labor. We were going to get in shape! To that end, Studly bought us a two-person kayak. Thank goodness he had the foresight to purchase a fishing kayak–broad on the bottom and damned near impossible to tip over.

Our first venture into the world of kayaking was tense. I yelled. He cried. Or maybe it was the other way around. At any rate, that was just the part where we tried to get into the vessel without getting wet. After several borderline pornographic physical manipulations, Studly and I found ourselves seated in the appropriate slots. To us it made sense that he take the front seat and I take the back. Him: Strong. Me: Weak. We: Wrong.

The back person does all the hard work. All of it. The front person is just there to look pretty and occasionally help steer. We discovered this at the halfway point. There was no way we could switch places without one of us getting drenched. I had to shoulder the load–the big load where the pretty one should be.

Slowly I rowed. Inch by painful inch I paddled and an hour later we found ourselves at our dock confronted with a final challenge. How the heck do we get out of this infernal thing? My arms were shot and Studly couldn’t get enough leverage to pull himself up onto the dock. You see, boats don’t stay still when you pull them into the dock. No. They continue to move in all sorts of ways. Back. Forth. Sideways. They rock and roll. They Zumba.

But, we are not quitters. Nossirree. Neither of us wanted to die out on that lake mere yards from our own back door. “Let’s back the boat away from the dock,” said Studly. “We’ll aim for that grassy area beside the dock, get a running start and shoot onto dry land.”

“Huh?”

“Yea,” he said. “Just help get us out into the inlet and I’ll power us onto the grass.”

“Sure.” Wearily, I pushed against the dock, and then stroke, stroke, stroked out into our little inlet, giving my man plenty of room to make his final stand.

He instructed me to lift my paddle and be ready to spring out of the boat as soon as we hit the shore. Spring. Yep, he said that. I’ve never seen arms work so powerfully. Boom, boom, boom and we hit paydirt. My spring was sprung and I fell onto damp grass, almost, but not quite, touching my lips to the solid ground.

“Quick! Grab the boat!” Studly yelled. Just in time, I caught hold to prevent him from floating away. I steadied the vessel as he rolled out, sprawling in lake mud. I’d have laughed at the sight, but I couldn’t summon the energy.

We both recovered. Slowly. And we’ve been out in our kayak many times since that first one. Every time we learn something new, but getting out never gets easier. I keep intending to google the topic. “How do I get out of my kayak without inflicting mortal wounds on my partner?” The good news? I think I’m developing an arm muscle. But it might be a mosquito bite. Time will tell.

Peace, People.

Above is glimpse of our lake taken from the safety of my back porch.

Peaceful Eve

within the hour, sun will slip
below trees’ ruffled edge
and froggy songs exuberant
hold court on center stage.

woods and lake commune in joy
as day’s light softly fades
through oaken leaves reflected there
in still water’s patient gaze.

paradise exacts a price
its beauty never owned
only borrowed for the briefest time
when evening light turns gold.

  

peace, people.

Evening Lake Haiku

Green cast of twilight
birds’ song floating from tall trees
forest peace descends

  
Lake without ripples
leafy reflections confound
filtered light descends

  
Red chairs keeping watch
over sunset’s still water
silent guardians

  

Frog Talk And Wonder Woman

Studly Doright is still snoring. I’m sitting on the screened in porch, sipping my coffee and waiting for the sun to rise. It’ll be at least another half hour before the lake gets any rays, and the darkness is deep. I wouldn’t venture out past the back door just yet; although, I imagine Wonder Woman wouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

The frogs are busy. They don’t croak. They click and clack and chirp. Some sound like those pendulum desk toys with metal balls bouncing off one another faster and faster, louder and louder, until they suddenly cease as if a large hand has intervened in the laws of physics.

When the amphibians’ chatter ends, birds begin tentatively singing their morning songs. Some contribute lilting melodies while others sound vaguely like annoying car alarms. Where is the giant’s hand?

The sky has begun to lighten and the squirrels are dancing in the dry leaves as my cat Patches attends to their every move. I imagine in her dreams she chases them down and gives them a good scolding. 

  
I really don’t want to move from this spot, but even Wonder Woman has work to do.

  
Peace, and good morning, people!

bravery behind the barrier

A flump flump of great wings conveyed our visitor across the lake to the intense scrutiny of two ordinary housecats.  

“Oh,” said Scout, “if only we could climb through this screen you would make a fine dinner.”

“Two dinners, maybe three,” added Patches, who was better at estimating portions than her sister.

The visitor surveyed them with cold amusement. 

  
“Good luck with that, you silly house animals.”

And with that he flew away.

Note: Neither of the blue heron pictures were taken by me. I found them on Pinterest but was unable to find a credit. My own heron would not stay in one place long enough for me to snap. I guess he didn’t care for the fame and fortune being featured in my blog my bring him. His loss.

FrogSong

I never knew I was a fan of frogs’ singing
until I moved into a home by a
lake.
Rough voices color the night while
mingling
with lights dancing off of the water’s
face.

   
In unison the choir stops to admire the
stars,
to imagine the sound of joined voices in
space
A whisper bounces back from galaxy’s
edge
ribbit! ribbit! echoing through the Milky Way.

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