Of all the reasons for writer's block, I've never heard anyone claim she couldn't write because the birds were leaving the nest. Today, I claim that.
After watching the mother bird build her nest, suspecting that babies were inside, and trying to set up a camera on a tripod with a remote shutter release (and failing), I was able to watch the wrens leave the nest.
At first glance, I knew the little ones were too small to make it on their own. But, then I discovered that the mother was still feeding them even as they sat and tried to figure out the new world around them.
This is the first day this Carolina Wren has sat in the sunshine, having been born in a nest hidden in a dark recess.
Now, I'm back to writing, and I'm happy I was able to watch the exodus.
Not all butterflies are stunning with vibrant colors, but they each have a place and a perfection of their own.
And, they're so much better than mosquitoes...
Happy Valentine's Day! Hope everyone has a romantic dinner out with a loved one. Or, if dining alone, orders dessert for two.
Didn't the bee realize the pollen was going to be there for awhile? He was digging in, grabbing so much pollen that when he took off, he dusted the air. Another bee flew away, and again the flakes of pollen fell from his body.
I'd never seen anything like it. The bees seemed greedy, working as rapidly as they could to get as much pollen as they could. I watched as one flew up and then headed for the woods. I wondered how far he was taking the pollen, and how much of his energy he would use getting the supplies back home.
I expected he'd done the same thing all day.
Then, plot twist! Later, clouds rolled in an a light rain started. I imagined all of the pollen being washed off the thistle.
I should have realized what was going to happen, but I hadn't. Like a reader in a good book, I didn't see what the characters may have knew, or expected, or what may have been just as much of a surprise to him as it was to me.
Plot twists aren't as much fun in real life as they are in stories, but they can keep a reader enthralled.
Happy reading, and Happy writing.
Photo: Bee on thistle garden behind my house.
Never again. I quit. I wasn't going to take pictures anymore. I don't want to. Don't care about it. Nope.
I once freelanced magazine articles and took the photos to go with them. I've had a photo used for the cover of a phone book, in an ad, and even had one of my pictures on the cover of a magazine.
I don't even have a decent camera anymore. Not really. For blog posting, I take quick pics and also buy photos from fotolia.com. Much more efficient than taking my own photos. The variety is amazing too. Shopping for the images is more fun than I ever expected, and kind of addictive for me--which does mean I could spend way too much money there.
Then someone told me about Quozio. It's a site you can go onto and type sayings and it will put the quote on a background suitable for Pinterest. I started playing with the site a little, but I wanted to try a few shots of my own. The next thing I know I'm outside with an old camera trying to take my own backgrounds for quotes.
To make a long story short--as if I could--I end up making a background for a friend's book--Without Mercy by Alicia Dean. I took a photo in the back yard, put a quote from her book on it and sent it to her. And she seemed to like it. Posted it on her FB page and another friend shared. The next thing I know I'm digging around in the barn hunting for rope to photograph, and barbed wire, to see if I could make a quote photo for my book.
A few days later I looked out and saw the light. I saw the light. Oh, it was beautiful. In the evening, sometimes the hues are more golden.
And so, with a borrowed camera, I took a few photos, of, you know, stuff. Like old wood and wheelbarrows. Flies. I didn't even realize when I took a picture of the deer poop that I was at it again. But after about the 30th picture of a flintlock mechanism on a gun--the little shutter inside my head clicked.
I'll still be buying photos, but I also would like to buy a camera.
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