Afternoon. I have moved planters out from their place of isolation and back into the flower beds where they belong. I have set out all the peony rings I own and counted to see how many more I could use. It hasn’t been hard work (I used a dolly to move the planters), and I haven’t moved at my usual frenetic pace, trying to get the most done in what time I have. I’ve uncoiled the sprinkler hose and snaked it through the north flower bed where it proves most useful.
Now, with the sun bearing down on me, I am sitting in a lawn chair, sipping on my water, and doing what I do best in the warm rays: bird and insect watching.
The paper wasps returned home a few days ago. We coexist gently: they don’t bother us if we don’t harass them. I take macro shots of them as they crawl out to sun themselves.
The mason bees are coming out now, and a few honey bees from someone’s hive are busy working the blue flowers of the rosemary. The long-horned bees are there, too, and some smaller ones. Bee flies hover over the grass, hunting. Gnats and other tiny winged things flutter about. I saw a Painted Lady butterfly rest on the side of the garage.
In the flowering tree northwest of us, a flicker calls. Over and over and over. He pauses, waits for a reply. Calls again. Some mornings, he bangs on the side of the house or the drain pipes, trying to make as loud a knock-knock-knock as he can. She is out there, whoever she is, and he is hopeful she will hear him.
The crows make their calls: caw-caw-caw or the strange purring call we refer to as “The Predator Call” because it sounds like the noise made by that creature in the Arnold Scwharzeneger film by the same name. One crow repeatedly poses a question: ‘ka-CAW? ka-CAW?’
I am alone at the moment, basking in the sun and feeling warmer than 58° F. My view is of a hanging bird feeder and several bird baths distributed around the back yard, as well as hummingbird feeders. Wind chimes and mobiles hang from shepherd’s hooks.
A dark-eyed junco (formerly Oregon junco) takes a tentative dip in a hanging birdbath. Another tests the water in the concrete pedestal bird bath. Within minutes, seven juncos have taken turns, dipping their heads under water, fluffing their wing feathers, and shaking their tail feathers in a shower of water droplets.
A low flying prop plane buzzes overhead, having just taken off from the nearby small airport and trying to gain height.
It dawns on me then, watching it rise into the sky, that there are no chem trails. We sit under the flight path of many major airlines as they make their descent to PDX International or they soar on past on their way to Sea Tac or San Francisco. There are always a few chem trails paralleling each other in the sky – and this afternoon there are none.
It feels as ominous as the days after September 11, 2001 – except for the small plane that buzzed by and a Lear jet that came in low on its way to Aurora airport to land.
And yet – the birds and the bees go about their daily lives, unconcerned. My heart soars like the sparrow’s.
Jaci Dawn 
Chem trails? 😛