Madison in August
A goldfinch, bright spot of yellow against the blue bay, clinging tight to a tall thistle swaying in the breeze, little black beak pecking into a purple bloom for seeds and sending bits of thistledown sailing.
Canoeing on Lake Wingra, lake-weeds and pond-lilies hissing against the bow. A kingfisher perches on a dead branch over the lake looking for fish, spiky crest high. A scattered flock of cedar waxwings shrills batlike, as its members flit out over the shallows for insects.
A friendly cat, dirty white with a black-striped gray tail and a few spots of similar shading, trots up to be petted, particularly liking scratches under its collar. “I have to go to work,” I tell it after a bit. It follows me in front of me. “No, I really have to go to work.” Sprawl at my feet, pleading look up. “Oh, all right.”
A rust-brown muskrat chewing on clover in Brittingham Park.
A green heron in its distinctive kiwi-like hunch on a boat launch. It extends its neck for a moment, then hunches up again. Less than a minute later, another green heron flaps by overhead, to the noisy consternation of one of the ubiquitous gulls.
In case anyone thought I had forgotten how much I love this place.