Arboretum Diary

"I know a painting so evanescent that it is seldom viewed at all, except by some wandering deer. It is a river who wields the brush, and it is the same river who, before I can bring my friends to view his work, erases it forever from human view. After that it exists only in my mind's eye. – Leopold from "August," Sand County Almanac








9/8

There are moments when the rain passes and is so quickly replaced on the stage of the prairie that it tends to look like two separate landscapes; in the dark and gloom the shade that forms under the hollows of the tall grass and brush become havens for swarms of mosquitos; puddles along the tire lanes that track the gravelly road swamp and become impassable by foot; the chickadees and

warblers scoot under the fallen alders as if hiding from their own chosen phantoms.  Blue sky, a brighter robin's egg than on average, quickly opens all the hidden spaces.  Some hours past noon and the yellow field flowers look like bobbing faces pushing cheeks or closed eyes toward the source of the sun angle in the sky.  Grasshoppers flit sideways down onto the main asphalt path leading to the

Curtis Prairie and play a little game whereby they jump three feet in front of the walkers shoes, then again, and again.  The crickets scaling their legs into tune mix and match pitch in the new found prickly heat.  These are the hours that all of the seekers of the song of the prairie watch for and know

they are no farther than a mile from the Arboretum when sky clears and will see the fresh diamonds of raindrops fall along the stalks of the milkweed while the great Monarchs dry their wings to make their launch a bit easier.  The sole red-tailed hawk zooms in and out of focus as it stares down the villaging field mice as the little chimney swifts play by bird baths that won't last another hour.