Just in case y'all have been in outer space, or Disneyland, or even perhaps Portland, and have missed the niffy new photography blog that is amassing, oh, three to four visits a week, here's the link .

I hear them before I see them. A thin, but distinct, gargling cry. Squinting into the sun, there they are, high in the sky, circling to catch a thermal, the sun catching their wings flashing white against the blue as they turn.

Sandhill Cranes

I find in myself, once again, such a wonder at the marvels of nature. I was awakened in the middle of the night last night to the most spectacular lightning. It filled my bedroom with daylight flashes that were followed, after a hesitation of a good 20 seconds, by thunder that had the windows rattling and the cats either under the bed or clinging to my comforter covered form.
I had to leave my bed to open a door and stand outside for a while until I felt the pattern of light and sound inside my soul.

Our hellebore always has that effect on me. The narcissus and daffodils show themselves as they emerge along the driveway as we come and go. But the hellebore is a bit hidden away up in back among the fallen leaves, twigs, and pine needles. I come upon it about the end of February when i creep out blinking in the cold still winter early morning with my cup of coffee, muttering about the cleanup i should do, stumbling over dead branches. And there, omigosh, look at that.

I got a big day-job project out the door this morning, and I followed soon after with mtn bike and camera to explore some new territory over in the Knickerbocker area I had "discovered" while messing around in Google Earth. Some trails, slippery with mud, and wading across a couple of creeks brought me to a beautiful pond, perhaps a quarter mile long and a couple hundred yards wide. An egret was fishing among some cattails while I sat and ate my sandwich. After lunch I thought perhaps I could creep around behind the reeds without disturbing him, so off I went with the camera.

A winter's day at home in Cool during the week before Christmas, 2008. About five minutes.

A Stroll Along the bottom of old Lake Bonneville