Look Into My Eyes

Is it crazy to love a caterpillar? Not romantically, of course, but just that feeling of gladness at the sight of it and gratitude for its very being. Maybe it is, but look at this caterpillar. Tell me he's not beautiful. Not a perfect genius of evolutionary expression. Couldn't you love this creature?
I found this guy crossing the road the other day, when I was walking home from the mailbox. I picked him on the envelope I had just retrieved and brought him closer so I could take a longer look. That's when I saw he had these perfectly beautiful, but false eyes. They were bright yellow with deep blue centers. I looked into them, and they seemed to have more depth than most sensing eyes I've peered into. I was absolutely captivated by them. So I took the caterpillar home to photograph. I found myself talking to him the whole way, explaining that it was a short walk, I wouldn't hurt him, and I would set him free right away. I pretended that he listened with his invisible caterpillar ears.

After I took these pics, I carefully carried the caterpillar into the woods, away from the road. If all goes well, he will become a Western Tiger Swallowtail. Something I will be just as happy to see next summer, and will love as much.

Time of Wind-blown Seeds

We drink wine every night with dinner, so most of the time our blog's salubrious equanimity has a 13% alcohol content. It's really much better that way, otherwise you'd hear even more of the squeaky wheels, the random discontents, the philosophical conundrums of life. Who needs that? We spare you the details. We rest our hoarse voices, our staggering outrages, our tragic disbeliefs. We put you, our dear guests, in the spare bedroom and speak in less than a whisper so as not to disturb you. We're here, but our inner door is closed and we retreat from the world. Make yourselves at home, we'll show up sooner or later.
Meanwhile, we photograph the gorgeous parade of butterflies as they come tripping through the yard sipping nectar at the aptly-named Butterfly Bush.
We finally say "screw the prospective buyers who might be confused by sheet strips on the windows," and re-hang the sheets, but not before I bury a fourth bird after it has struck a deadly leafy reflection in hard glass.
It's simply down time in the August of summer, even here where the skies have been as gray as winter. We watch wind-blown seeds sail across the landscape, a hint of fall and then another winter. We're just living life, harvesting veggies, doing crossword puzzles and laundry, feeding the cat and the birds.

All these beautiful wings are slightly torn upon closer inspection.

1. Lorquin's Admiral (Limenitis lorquini)
2. Lorquin's Admiral (Limenitis lorquini)
3. Red Admira (Vanessa atalanta)
4. Western Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio rutulus)

Tidbits of the First Days of Summer

The sun finally came out. Three days of it. Every bud, leaf, blade, and flower relaxed and drank it in. We've been out weeding, whacking, mowing, and clipping. Almost nothing is safe from our wild ministrations to tame the place.
All day long the swallow chicks chirp and cheep from inside the nest boxes. That, more than anything else, is the sound we hear when we are outside, and even inside when the windows are open. They are alternately demanding and satisfied, over and over they tell us their story. Their parents fly in and out, in and out feeding them on the hapless insects that have been enticed out by the sun.
We did get to take a long minus-tide walk on Tuesday. A four-mile loop around and through Fort Worden. It was the kind of day with a double halo around the sun and ospreys flying straight out over the water looking for food. We know in many ways it doesn't get any better than this.
But we also know it gets much worse. We watched Michael Moore's Sicko. It is such a profoundly good documentary that it takes my breath away. It makes me more ashamed of our country than I was before, and I was already pretty damned ashamed. It is a stunning look at our health care system and shows indisputably that the insurance industry exists to take our premiums and work tirelessly to give the very least in return. The entire system is geared toward denying benefits, with a shitload of employees who spend their time poring over records to find a single thread to thwart a claim. How can this possibly be a definition of health care? That we live in fear of illness, not because of its toll on our bodies, but because of the expense?
Moore goes to Canada, England, and France to talk to people about their experience with health care. Everyone he speaks with seems quite content with their national systems. No matter what, they don't really ever have to worry. Imagine that--No worries, and for less money than we spend.

Isn't it time for a revolution in this country? What will it take to get us off of our butts and out into the streets? What?

IT'S GOOD PLANETS WEEKEND!!

Hey, don't forget to send your Good Planets photos to susannah AT dccnet DOT com. The theme for this weekend is fragility and durability. Please send your beautiful photos by Friday.

Thanks everyone, and have a great weekend.