Desert Story: Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo and Still Mo!

Song of the Desert Bard

In the frozen wastes of a western state

Starts an oft-repeated story

Of a singer who knows of life-long foes--

Every player, feathered or hoary.

And the tale begins when the southwest winds

Breathe a promise of days to come

When the snows are gone and the days are long

And the migrant stray flies home.

With a flash of wings the yellow bard sings

As a traveler flies the last leg

Of a journey from afar guided by a star

And the Great Horned settles on eggs.

In a land dispute an eagle stoops

On an interloping falcon

And a raven falls with a raucous call

To escape the gryphon’s talon.

In a bed of sticks three Raven chicks

In egg-shell blue are hidden

And the pronghorn buck tests his luck

Against a horse that’s never ridden.

The lark with horns anxiously scorns

A base of tufted grass

‘Till the watcher’s glance moves by chance

The eggs are warm at last.

Then the chorus swells ‘neath the vernal spell

The Thrasher’s trill incites

A battle cry from a black bow tied

Defending sparrow sprite.

Just hours apart, synchronous start,

On a frigid wind-swept stage

Transparent blue, they emerge on cue

The poet turns a page.

A wary hare without a prayer

Of moving undetected

Defies the gods and beats the odds

For a nip of morning nectar.

The time has come as the snow succumbs

For the hawk with feathered legs

To set a course for the frigid north

As the Bluebird’s youngsters beg.

Is that a feathered slug hanging snug

Deep within the brush?

Cat eyes peer ‘neath tufted ear

The Long-eared owl’s been flushed.

The queen of the air watches with care

A pure white ball of down

Soaring high with piercing eye

She patrols the distant ground.

Sage Grouse fellows pump yellow bellows

Vying for mating rights.

Creeping ‘round a rocky mound

Elusive Chukars take flight.

In one accord the cricket horde

Paves the dusty gravel

While the coyote pup, flushing a buck

Wisely opts to travel.

The weasel pops, the ground squirrel drops
Six crimson gapes a’ beggin’

For a bit of fare from a harried pair

Of joint-custody ravens.

The season turns as thunderheads churn

The heavens into butter

The Claret blossom turns deep plum

And the ground owl takes a lover.

Crop circles form ‘round a ravaging swarm

Of hymenopteran farmers

A formic feast for a horny beast

Deliberately scaled and armored.

A thorny spike to a hoarding shrike

Is a Big Sage Frigidaire

And the cicada’s drone of raspy tone

Marks a viper’s lair.

The summer moon, a helium balloon

Seems tethered by a feather-light rock

A scorpion tail fluorescent pale

Lies on the butcher block.

An audacious ball for one so small

The Red-tail youngster tracks

A wing-over cry from a blinding sky

The diving guardian feints.

Pulling with ease unbelievable G’s

While echoing the irate yammer

Of a tiny gape in a nesting scrape

The Falcon negotiates a hammer.

Across the chest a sapphire vest,

A band like an ebony braid

A gravid-red touch? Is it too much?

See the Great Basin Reptile Parade.

Spinning in his skin with a hissing grin

The badger turns the battle

Now wary feet beat a wise retreat

To the Storyteller's tattle.

A pugnacious beast discovers a feast

At the Desert Fried Chicken drive-in

Then lumbers away from his swing-shift buffet

While the owls mourn their offspring.

Lupine orbs form curling cords

A gift for a Painted Lady.

The Indian grass parts to pass

A gangling Curlew baby.

With tender care a foxy pair

Exchanges grooming favors

And the fledgling’s bold screeching scold

Is betrayed by a youthful quaver.

The days are long and the heady song

Of the storyteller croons

To a Black-tailed jack kicking back

To beat the heat of June.

The kestrel clings with quivering wing

To an exclusive parking space

Over lizard lox garnished with phlox

Waiting for his brunch to braise.

The season’s done as one by one

Grown-up wings take flight

The horizon fades through crimson shades

That wink and turn to night.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo and Still Mo!

I found some very, very, very small flowers in my favorite desolate spot. Try as I might, I can't ID them. It seems that very small flowers aren't important to taxonomists, or at least to those who populate the databases. If any of you have some hints for me, I'm listening....

Amsinckia something (Boraginaceae)

Another Amsinckia something (Boraginaceae)

Myosotis something?

As I tried to foil the wind and get some good pictures, it occurred to me that any pollinator would have to be the size of a grain of rice. When I got home with the pictures, I was shocked to see that there actually is such a thing!

Desert Story

In Memory of Jessie

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Song of the Desert Bard

Monday, June 1, 2009

Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo and Still Mo!

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