Budgies!

Of course, there are all kinds of birds at the Indianapolis Zoo,

 including this aviary full of budgeriars.

Visitors enter the little birds' home via an anteroom,

where they are greeted by the exhibit's attendant.

On this day, she was carrying a 3-foot length of dowel rod

as she emerged from the aviary through a curtain made from

floor-length pieces of five-eighths inch diameter

braided rope. The rod was used to herd any escapees

back through the rope curtain.

The trees and branches inside were covered with the multi-colored 

chattering budgies, who darted back and forth between 

the perches stationed throughout the airy house.

They often flew very close to the visitors; I could feel

the beating of their wings as they flew overhead.

Visitors could obtain sticks with dabs of bird food 

on the end to feed to their hungry hosts. A little girl 

about four years old was holding one of the sticks 

for the dining pleasure of a little blue budgie.

Textured Tuesday: Downspout at Glossbrenner House

Admittedly, the shot is fuzzy but I just had to share this.

When one thinks of guttering for one's house, the images generally

include the ubiquitous downspout. These days, it usually 

takes the shape of a long, rounded rectangle. When I was a kid,

it more often than not was a fluted tin tube hanging 

from the sides of houses. Now, it is bought in sections at the

big box hardware store, or extruded on-site by contractors

using shaping machines designed especially for the task.

But how many of us have ever seen spirally fluted copper

downspouts, held in place by 2-inch straps with

fleur-de-lis attaching points and diamond-head rivets?

And the fact that it remains in place over 100 years after

the home was built is nothing short of miraculous.

On the Second Day of Spring ...

 ... I appeared, squalling and protesting the ham-fisted efforts

 of my mom's doctor to drag me into this world.

When my daddy saw me for the first time, he looked

at my long legs and skinny, bruised frame and

christened me "Sally Bedslats" on the spot. 

I've been "Slats" or "Shanks" ever since.

I don't remember my family as being big on recording

our lives on film, so there are very few pictures around of me,

my brother, or sister. This is the only one I have, probably because

I remember when it was taken. From the time I was a toddler,

I've loved horses; the pages on my little dictionary were 

worn and dog-eared at the spot for "H is for Horses"

because I'd stare at the artist's drawings for hours.

One summer afternoon, I was playing in the yard when I saw a man

walking up our street, carrying a big camera on a wooden tripod 

over his shoulder and leading a black and white pony.

I begged my mom to have my picture taken on the pony;

I was in heaven, thrilled beyond belief to be sitting on the back

of a real horse. To this day, I can remember the smell of the leather

saddle and the pony, the feel of my hands on the pommel,

and my bare feet in the stirrups.  I believe my little brother had his picture

taken as well, but mine is the only one that survives, possibly

because the love of my life, a real live pony, walked up

my sidewalk and I got to sit on his back for a few minutes.

When I look at this picture and think across the years in between,

I see a sweet, happy child and I love her to bits.

Happy Birthday, little girl.
  

In and Out

The sun and clouds are alternating their presence in our days, 

in and out, as we work our way closer to spring.

These changes often happen within hours --

the morning is cloud-covered, bringing snow showers

that coat the ground with a thin glaze of white.

The breeze pushes out the overcast, dragging the bright

sun just behind. Everything is bathed in the sun's light,

then, more clouds and a bit more snow.

It's a bit like the instructions on a shampoo bottle:

"Wash. Rinse. Repeat." cleansing away the winter 

doldrums as preparation for the renewal 

and promise of spring.

And while I was huddled on my couch, I listened to a couple
musicians I hadn't heard much about.

Textured Tuesday: Sun Dappled

Early morning,

the sun breaks through the trees

in dappled patches,

creating a path of gold coins,

like dreams,

to be picked up and followed.

Type A

Type A, a sculpture by Team Building (Align), 2010

This sculpture, comprised of two metal rings, is meant to cast 

one shadow on the day of the Summer Solstice.

This year, that will be June 20 at 23:09 GMT, 

which will be 7:09 p.m. DST, I think. 

I took these pictures at 1:26 p.m. and 1:27 p.m., 

respectively, and they look pretty well aligned to me.

What will be magically different just 

after 7 p.m. about seven weeks from now? 

Next year, the Solstice is to

be at 05:04 GMT on June 21.  Well, that translates 

to just after one o'clock in the morning here, 

so not much chance of the two rings casting 

an aligned shadow then, either.

Unless it's star or moon shadows.

Here, a man is walking his dog just outside

Aliens Plotting a Crop Circle.

If I were to lie in the circle naked at the appointed,

important time, will I find my self joyously

impregnated by Darryl the One-Eyed Monster

from the Planet Trojan? That's an event

that'd scare the magic out of all the 

woods faeries for miles around.

Makes their wings droop just thinking on it.

Another of the Bench Around the Lake
series by Jeppe Hein, 2010

These photos are among those I took last week 

during my visit to the Indianapolis Museum of Art 

and to the IMA's adjacent art park, 100 Acres.

Same Time, Last Year

Due to a small medical issue, I've had to stay pretty 

close to home this week, so my camera and 

I haven't been able to wander much.

This will be remedied within the next day or so.

Meanwhile, here are a few pictures I took

at this same time last year during a walk downtown.

The top picture was taken underneath

one of the flowering trees near the bus stop 

at the Federal Court House.

The picture above shows the flowering trees 

around the Indiana War Memorial. In the background,

from right to left, are the Baker & Daniels law offices,

AT&T buildings make up the next two, while

the fourth building is a Sheraton hotel. 

 This restored, red-painted brick home is 

on a side street off Alabama Street, just north 

of the downtown area. I was tempted

to replace the light fixture on its pole, but was 

unable to reach it from outside the fence.

Spring is, well, spring

After a Winter that was decidedly springlike,

our Spring so far is, well, Spring. With cooler temperatures

and swirling gray clouds, we've had the amount 
of rain one might associate with "April showers." Even
though some of the trees have flowered about two weeks
earlier than usual and people have already started 
mowing their lawns, the season seems to be 
mostly what one would expect this time of year. 

When out on a rainy day, I often see leaves of plants, 

bushes and trees that seem to shimmer with the silvery crystals

of raindrops. However, this effect does not seem to 

reproduce well in my pictures. I love the effect

of the raindrops on the new green of the lily plants.

They are beginning to bloom, as well, but

there aren't very many as yet.

Morning Sun

I like the way morning light filters through leaves. 

In fact, I have to be careful to not be posting

similar pictures more often than I do. 

I love the silhouettes made by the overlapping leaves 

and the more intense color the sun provides.

The warmth of the sunlight can belie the temperature,

which this morning was a springlike thirty-six degrees,

with a coating of frost on the shaded lawns.

Shiny

On Sunday, it had been seven weeks and three days since 

Mr. Groundhog had been out to forecast for spring.

I wore a vest over my T-shirt this afternoon only to have 

pockets for my wallet and camera. Spring has surely

arrived because so many people were out raking 

their flower plots, cleaning garages, and walking their dogs.

This family was preparing their car for future

automobile shows. The engine has been removed

for an overhaul and the garage was being tidied prior to 

the car being returned to its shelter.

There were three people involved in this activity, 

I believe - father, son and granddaughter, each of whom has

their own vehicle to drive around the neighborhood.

Spring Shadows

Waiting for it ... waiting ... waiting 

As Earth leans more towards the sun, the weather has begun to wreak

havoc over the Midwest. Thunderstorms, tornadoes and floods have

stricken parts of the country from Alabama to Indiana.

A small town near the Ohio River, Marysville Indiana 

was wiped out by a tornado this morning.

I've been through a couple small ones and hope never to experience

the terror of a larger storm. Check this video from the 

Indianapolis Star to see one of the funnel clouds 

that hit this afternoon.

While spring brings flowers, leaves on the trees, 

and warmer temperatures, the process of getting to those joys

is more like the reality of the video at the above link.

 It ain't all tulips and daffodils, Buttercups.

Bird Chatter

It was sunny today when I went for my walk. 

I could hear birds chattering to each other in the trees and

the daffodils have begun to bloom.

At the Coke Field, the trees have not yet begun to bloom, 

but I saw a flash of red as a cardinal flew 

through the bare branches. The field was full of robins -

I counted a couple dozen in one batch, all of them maintaining

professional courtesy as they were buggin' through

the grass. While the picture below does not even begin to show the vast

number of birds, the colors of the field - the violets, reds,

and yellows, seem to run in bands across the grass.

What I Saw

I spent yesterday kvetching (bitching) about 

everything being some shade of brown.

Today, I went for a walk with the intention of

stalking the heron I saw a couple days

ago in the Coke Field creek.

The weather was clear, the sky was very blue 

and stems that the other day looked

brown now took on purple and red hues.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw brief flashes

of red and blue, a cardinal and blue jay 

that were flitting among the bare branches.

Out in the field, I heard the calls in the distance 

of a large number of birds. I had trouble locating them,

but very high above, I saw hundreds of them, in a flock

that seemed more like a swarm than the tidy V's

made by geese. They were sand hill cranes,

heading north to their breeding grounds, so far up

in the sky I could only recognize them by their voice.

This flock was far more easy to identify:

a group of teen-age boys spending a nice February

afternoon playing basketball in a driveway. 

And in their shirt-sleeves!

Bitter River

I went down to the river, a place I love, 

to feel the first spring breeze against my face.

It brings to mind my boat, my Belle, 

my heart for many years.

We'd go early each spring to open her for the season,

to take the antifreeze from her pipes, 

the veins that gave us water, 

to sweep the cobwebs from her windows, 

awakening her from slumber.

I checked the lines, still snugly tied

and turned to greet the boat, "Hello, Belle," 

as I always did, running my hands along her sides

I could tell how her winter had been.

The feel and sound of my fingers as they

stroked the rough wood told me where

I would need to scrape and paint.

One rough trip I found her hull scraped bare,

leaving a patch of polished steel 

where before had been matte black.

Badly hurt, she'd brought us safely home

and deserved our tender care.

I washed and painted her wound,

remembering the scream of metal 

as she slid unhappily along the lock wall, 

and hoped to avoid an infection of rust.

Knowing her in this way, she became a living thing

and I wondered at her days when we weren't with her.

I once found a winter's worth of bones and scales

where an eagle had used her deck as a fishing lodge,

a place to enjoy its tasty catch. 

It felt unfair to sweep the pearly shards into the river,

like erasing a page from Belle's diary,

expunging her life with other tenants 

who'd taken shelter there.

Too early to hear the carp drumming on our boat,

adding their voices to the bullfrogs' choir

along the Muskingum's banks,

we curled against each other in the night, 

a cocoon of warmth against the chilled March air, 

where we listened to bright sounds, 

like cocktail party chatter, 

as the river rippled past the hull.

It was a loving struggle to bring her to life,

and when she was ready she was stolen

by a patient criminal, her lines loosened

by nicotine-stained fingers and a lifetime of lies,

to cruise on bitter rivers.

I turned from the river and walked away, 

as the cold breeze raised sharp ripples,

sounding now like a shattered heart.