These were taken from my front yard. They are not my best work, but trying to get closer forced this lovely wader to retreat into the trees. The visit was nonetheless an exciting one for me.
Clicking on these will afford a closer and better view! 😉
I really wish this one had been clearer. I am loving that reflection!
NOTE: I have searched for this bird and believe it is the white form of the Great Blue Heron. It was a very large bird!
Below is a link to the standard form of Great Blue Heron for comparison.
Inspired by the latest prompt for Friday Fictioneers from Rochelle Wysoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple I throw my hat into the ring and offer you my take on the prompt for 3/4/2016.
It was with great alarm that Joan found her two-year old son, Bobby, chewing on a AAA alkaline battery. Snatching the dimpled and dripping form from his chubby little hand she yelled,
“NO! This is not candy!!”
Bobby burst into tears.
Examining him closely she saw no sign of irritation and checking the battery saw no signs of leakage. She immediately started storing them in a tightly sealed jar on the top shelf of the pantry.
She went apoplectic when, at age three, she found him atop the pantry ladder, jar in hand.
The pantry door is now locked.
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WORDS: 100
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Want to read some really great takes on this WEEK’s prompt?
I sit here with so many words in my brain, things I might say, things perhaps I should not say, in a word:
emotional
On Tuesday afternoon I heard the little dog from across the street yelp. I ran out front to see a big green truck stop, wait, then take off. This truck frequents our street often looking for goodies in our junk piles we place out for monthly collection. He usually turns at he end of the lane and goes back out to the main road. Not this time. This time he had the nerve to drive through our neighbors property to get to the road on the other side!
Thankfully, little Payden is none the worse for the event.
Later that afternoon Bob came home and said, “I need your help! Chuck says the new neighbor has run over Miss Dixie!”
I never heard a thing. Surveying the road out front of our house I clearly see by the feathers that she hit her and kept right on going. I followed the trail of feathers leading back into our yard to find her cowering under a bush. She was badly hurt and I knew what needed to be done.
You may find it odd for someone who raises chickens for the table to have a hard time with
what needs to be done,
but it remains that I did.
Since Tuesday I kept waiting for the lady next door to come to me and say she was sorry, or at least to tell me a lie, but she has not. I suppose she could just be feeling ashamed, but don’t believe that is the case.
Like that guy in the truck, the same afternoon, she just drove on and ostensibly couldn’t care less. People like that bother me. I want to tell her about Dixie. About how she came to be wild, about her run-ins with owls, hawks, tomato loving neighbors, and wayward dogs. I want her to know about how she had been a survivor for all these years, and how just recently, she had started laying at home again and hooked onto my other chickens in the chicken yard. (Although she still preferred to roost high in the tree out back.)
I want her to care.
However, when she kept going that afternoon, and has not come to me to say anything in the way of regrets, I simply know that she does not care. To her Miss Dixie was just a stupid chicken in the road.
Goodbye, Miss Dixie
Looking for adventure
In whatever came her way…
She was born
Born to be wild
She could fly so high
I never thought she’d die (not like this)
Born to be wild
Born to be wild
I really wish this one had been clearer. I am loving that reflection!
Life on the Farmlet 