Four people in New York, Los Angeles, and Germany. Stopping, noticing, sharing - one photo/four people/every day. (For now we are just three, but hopefully four again soon.)
Even after we eat our fill, there are plenty of figs left for the birds. After the birds come these huge green bugs. They are silent as they munch everything but the thin skin, and you don't even notice them - until you accidentally bump a low-hanging branch. Fifty fluorescent green monsters buzz noisily off, following each other in a clumsy line towards the north.
When the temperatures rise, I come home from work to find my bed has become my grandson's playground since it's the only room in the house with air conditioning to offer some relief from the heat.
My backyard bird bath is only 7 inches in diameter, 2 inches deep, but I used to have regular visitors there.
Then my neighbor put up a fountain, not 10 ft away from my tiny watering hole. Theirs has the sound of running water and is big enough for a pair of ravens to get a good dousing.
I stopped seeing birds in my bird bath, but I continued to fill my homemade watering hole. I wondered if it was worth it.
This morning I had my answer. I teeny-tiny, beautiful yellow feather.
To get into my studio, I open the door, take one giant step forward, shuffle slightly to the right, turn sideways and squeeze between two tables piled with books. Two short steps forward, then I go sideways again to fit between the drawing table and the Foosball table (careful not to get stabbed in the gut with handles from the Foosball). My studio is a mess of tables and boxes piled with supplies, artwork, tools, and tons of crap that belongs somewhere else (mostly in the trash). I can't blame the 105 degree weather anymore. I must get in there and make some heavy duty decisions.
Faster than I could unload and put the groceries away, Boots discovered the cat food and attempted to help put it away or at least that's her "story"- looks like she was treating herself to an all-u-can eat buffet.
This box of stuff ended up in our living room. I'm not sure where it came from. I long to throw it out. I want to be rid of it. Wish I'd never seen it. I've gone through it several times and I just can't decide. Is it trash or treasure? I can't decide.
This morning I was reminded of some letters my mom sent to me when I was 18 years old. I went looking for them in a box that I keep under my bed. I didn't find the letters I was looking for. I found her purse with makeup. The last purse she used before she got too sick to go anywhere. I don't know why I kept it. But there's nothing I can do now, except keep it for a while longer - in a box, under my bed.
A few days ago I saw a raven fly by with something in its claws. Hot on its tail was a squawking mockingbird trying in vain to save its tiny offspring.
This morning I found this still-wet eggshell under my carob tree. I looked up trying to find a nest. I couldn't see one. I hope the ravens can't find it either.