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October 23, 1998 |
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perfect autumn
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plum
island bird list
Copyright © 1998, Janet I. Egan |
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I have a headache. I don't have any plans for today. I plan to go to at least part of the Robert Frost Festival tomorrow. I check the East Bay newspapers for articles about the dredging project, and print out same. I still have a headache. I take the trash out, make the beds, continue the search for my missing winter jacket, find jacket, straighten up piles on desk and dining room table, call CVS to refill arthritis prescription, call CVS again to refill arthritis prescription, call CVS a third time for the same prescription, realize CVS Rapid Refill system is broken, drive to CVS to refill prescription, read decorating magazines while waiting for same. Surprisingly, there is still daylight left when I am done with all this, so it's off to look for migrating shorebirds and ducks. The day is gorgeous. It's the kind of day people move here for. That deep blue sky, the crisp but not too cold air, the yellow and red leaves drifting gently on the light breeze, the autumnal slant of light on the dunes, flocks of Canada geese honking overhead in huge vee formations, flocks of sanderlings running in and out of the surf at the water line, black bellied plovers chasing semipalmated plovers off their stretch of beach, gently rolling waves as the tide goes out, a skunk walking along the beach sniffing at every rock... Wait a sec. I've never seen a skunk on the beach before. On the refuge, yes. On the beach, no. It's walking around quite boldly scratching and digging in various spots just above the high tide line. It wanders down closer to the rocks and the wet hard packed sand the outgoing tide has uncovered. The skunk is now between me and the path to the parking lot. I'd better wait it out. I sit on a rock and meditate for a long time, then walk gingerly along the water line keeping the skunk in my peripheral vision. When one is sharing the beach with a skunk, one doesn't want to lose track of it. I find a dead jellyfish, razor clam shells, quahog shells, periwinkles (live ones and shells), barnacles, five kinds of seaweed, four mangled lobster traps with their buoys still attached, a couple of gull feathers, a beer can wedged tightly between two rocks... all the while watching the skunk out of the corner of my eye. The late afternoon light makes each rock on the shore look like a separate and mysterious world. The reflections in the tide pools look like still lifes. The wet sand is smooth and unmarked except for the tracks of semipalmated plovers, black bellied plovers, and the skunk. These are definitely not bird tracks. The skunk has been here. I look around and realize I've lost track of the little stinker. Once I've located the skunk again and seen that it's not between me and the path to the parking lot anymore, I wend my way slowly toward the car. A small flock of wigeons whistles as they pass over my head. The sun's going down. As I drive back along the dirt road, I spot a few deer and many birds. The surprise bird of the day is the dark eyed junco. They're all over the place in twos and threes. Every time I see something move in the trees and shrubs and I'm expecting a late warbler en route to New Jersey and points south, I raise the binoculars and it's a dark eyed junco. The headache hung on but the memory of the dark eyed juncos lingered too. | |||||
