Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Searching for Beaver Dam

      We heard from Clay that a beaver had saved a part of the farm by building a dam. In this day of drought, we welcome any partner whose enterprise will help maintain moisture in the country.
      Thanks to the beaver, other wildlife benefit from the pond he created with his dam. We saw a flock of fifteen or twenty blackbirds flush from the reeds, and we heard frogs. Nearby, a Northern Harrier buzzed a sandpiper, sending into harried -- yes, pun intended with glee -- screeching.
      MyMrMallory and I made our way across bushy country in search of the dam. Here I show some of the images I made as we walked along the countryside.

Salt-resistant grass grows among other hardy plants.

Green, yellow, brown . . . 

Colors of autumn.

Tumbleweed, salt cedar, and mesquite grow near a gate.

Dead tree and perch for a Northern harrier.

Ah, reeds! We felt sure upon seeing the reads that we came closer to the beaver dam.

Water! And a sandpiper.

Racoon paw prints along the shore. 

We recognized paw prints by other wildlife, such as deer, 
coyotes, hogs, birds, and finally those of the beaver.

Following the edge of the water, we expectantly waited to find the dam. 

And here it is!

Mud-packed wall of the beaver dam. 

Photo of a beaver by Steve. Thanks, Steve.

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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.