Blue Day

There's something here - Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I can't put my finger on what draws me to nature spaces, but I know I must be "here". Often. Daily if I can. Trusting myself to follow the nudge to get out the door.

Maybe the word that draws me is potential? As in the potential of catching something that is new to me - a mushroom that popped up, a mallard duck with 9 growing ducklings in tow, a flower that stands alone in a prairie landscape, putting a punctuation mark on its place.

Every day holds the potential to experience something new and making forward progress to change and grow. Change is not my favorite thing -- often I am not comfortable with change and have to remind myself that I wouldn't be where I am now without change. The recent addition of a granddaughter caused me to reflect on all the change that she experiences as and will experience before she even learns to crawl. And how change is a good thing, comfortable or not. It was pointed out to me recently that any forward progress is good. I want to live that more, remembering how it always feels to learn something new - I feel alive when I am learning!

One change from recent drought years are the generous rains that occurred with a degree of regularity this summer, causing the forests and prairies to explode with dense foliage. The prairie plants seem to compete with who can catch the most sun, stretching upwards together. Many are chest high or more. Yes, the birds and other wildlife are here, but they have more room to remain just out of my view. But yet, there's the potential they just might step out in the open while I'm here. It makes it more exciting to hear them, and see if I can find them, either with my eyes or with help from my camera lens.

I remain vigilant as I walk, stepping on damp leaves, avoiding the crunch of grave on the worn path that might startle wildlife. My dog, George is a silent walker, too; his fur paws always move quietly on any surface as if he is wearing slippers. He's learned to be quiet, attentive and patient with me and my frequent stops to look closer at something. We walk together, connected by a leash and my recent improvement: a carabiner attached to the leash that I snap to my belt loop. It's a simple thing that I should have thought of a long time ago, No fumbling with the leash when I see something and George stays safe as well.

We are the visitors here, and I deeply respect the "residents" who are busy raising their families, plants growing up from the ground, larvae maturing into their adult stage, mushrooms popping up (literally overnight), to name a few of the homies. Through it all, there is the potential for me to see something, if my dog and I are quiet, patient and careful where we step.

Walking along, I became a little distracted, wishing to see a scarlet tanager (and not taking my own advice to be ready for ANYTHING that catches my eye. (sigh)) There have been a few of these brilliant birds here, so I keep looking for brilliant red patches in the foliage.

But - at the edge of my field of view, I catch movement, a patch of blue. I stop gently and slowly raise my camera up to my eye. My dog is quiet and still. Good. It's a bit dark where I am looking, but there it is again, hopping along a branch that is horizontal to the ground, reaching a fork, and peeking out at me.

Indigo Bunting. Small beauty of a bird. I adjust my exposure to draw out the deep blue from the dark green foliage that kept him out of the spotlight. I snapped a few photos, taking advantage of how comfortable he was on his perch, safe far above me.

Nature never disappoints. I'm taking my own counsel: There is always something to see that you haven't seen before. I'll be back for more.