Those fireflies are so magical! I remember going camping in Ohio on a river. The air was warm and moist-unlike where I came from namely Seattle. Moist meant cold and rainy…so on with my story…The dark rolled into our camp space and the forest was full of twinkling lights. Never having experienced this phenomenon, I was dazzled! Another nine-year-old called from their camp site to “catch them and put them in a jar” Well, the new world order had just begun for me. The firefly was my muse. I painted pictures of them. I wrote poems. I did research on their gift of light. Oh, how I love those fire flies.

Carol Taylor

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Observing eagles, hawks, falcons and vultures can reveal to a careful watcher many unique variants of avian flight.

How long might one watch a vulture and never see it flap those black edged wings with gray primaries?

How fast must you search the sky to glimpse a peregrine falcon stooping at near two hundred miles an hour?

One may watch a marsh harrier skimming just two feet above the reeds and sedges then pounce on a frog or mouse. It’s hawkish white tail base absorbed into the green-black of the watery swale.

Watching eagles should thrill everyone. Quite lucky persons may spy a working imperial Aquila, whether white bald or golden bronze. Balds mug ospreys to steal their trout servings and sacred goldens tear three-black-tipped jacks from tops of their spy hops as they try to escape becoming rabbit meals for nestling eyas eaglets.

Soaring and diving are only imitated by humans and poorly at that. All natural flight is magical but I’m empty and sad because it’s not a skill of mine.

Donavin A. Leckenby