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bear by san

December 2021

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bear by san

This morning I arose early, rode my bicycle up to Elizabeth Park (one of Hartford's community treasures) and went for a walk in the rose garden. Which is just about peaking, though with the exception of the trellises, which haven't bloomed yet.

While there, I stopped and chatted with wary geese and mighty-thewed goslings, said good morning to about two dozen of my early-rising neighbors (by ten, the park will be absolutely packed, this time of year), and wandered among roses dripping with color and scent.

I met with two single red-and-white roses I could not find names for (though I think one was Fourth of July and the other was a single shrubby rose, creamy white with a scarlet rim that faded into scattered dots on the body of the petal, as if it had been airbrushed on a coarse setting), numerous heirloom and test varieties (the test beds have something of the aspect of a New York subway car--roses of every size, habit, color, shape, and description jostle up against one another, competing for a coveted spot in one of the display beds). The names alone are a kind of poetry: Tahitian Sunset, About Face, Distant Drum, Glowing Peace, Daybreaker (there's a book title waiting to happen), Cherry Parfait, Hot Cocoa, Golden Unicorn--about 800 varieties in all. There were white roses with petals so dense and thick I thought of magnolias, and roses such as Shakespeare never saw in a lady's cheek.

On the way home, I saw a starling with a long yellow streamer of collected fiber trailing behind, on its way home to put the stuff to use. And I saw another starling, of which all that was left was a piece of one wing. (We have peregrines and red tailed hawks within city limits; frequently, I see a pair of red tails soaring from my front window.)

This is a particularly nice ride, because while it's uphill all the way there, there is the reward of the park at the top of the hill, and that means it's downhill all the way home. So every ride ends with the thought, "Well, that was  little too short."

Last night, on the way home from Glastonbury, I saw a great horned owl fly directly across the road in front of me, fanning her wings to settle lightly on an overhanging branch. I've seen barn owls before, but this was my first one of the big guys in the wild.

And what a sighting it was.

Fantastic.

Comments

Now that's the way to start the morning. :)

Have a wonderful day!
Louis L'Armour has The Daybreakers already. Nothing to do with a flower so far as I know. :)

I love my dead gay genre.

But do they actually break days?

I THINK NOT!

*g*
I had a great horned owl fly across the road in front of me one morning as well, when I was on my way in to work particularly early.
That was amazing, and a moment I will probably never forget. It certainly made my day!
Thanks for the tip on the roses ... I think I'll try to drag the guys over there tomorrow morning.
Wow. That's great. The About Face rose is *stunning*. Daybreaker is so sweetly pretty - with a name like that, I want all those gentle sunrise colors, with a bit of violence right at the heart. I guess that's just how well hidden it is.

Hot Cocoa mystifies me, but that's all right.

Your descriptions are marvellous. And I envy you your owl-sighting almost as much as I envy you your frequent hawk-sightings. And may I say, nice choice of barn owl photo.
Thank you for taking us with you.

I envy you the owl. The best I've done so far is a barred owl or two. Not that they are not fine owls, because they are. Especially since I was first introduced to them verbally, and I thought they were called "bard owls."

P.
There should be such a bird as a bard owl.

Notable for being a companion to poets, one would presume.
At our old house ("the Country House") the driveway was lined and overhung with trees, making it a tunnel. Somewhere on the property an enormous great horned owl had his-or-her nest, and I used to get "buzzed" by the own with some frequency when walking in the driveway at night...Twas very impressive, that...with the flapping and then the whooshing....
ooo.
Hi, by the way, I'm new here. I love your stuff! My beloved semperfiona sad she read your blog but I never actaully asked what your name was here so I could seek you out, so to speak....until yesterday when she said that her office's Content Filter was blocking you, and I had to see who the blocked journal was. Anyway, hello!
Have you ever seen a Joseph's Coat? It's a climbing rose which changes color as it matures, so it means you've got a thicket of roses all from the same plant, none of them the same color.

Also, it's got wicked thorns, which I always think is a virtue in a rose.
I have.

It's lovely.

And yes, I am all for thorns.
The astonishing thing about the great horneds is how something so big can be so silent when if flies by.

We sometimes get one hooting in the big pine tree next door, usually in conversation with another a block away -- in the desert night, those deep hoo hoo, hoo, hoos carry a long way.

---L.
I started early, took my dog
And visited the sea.
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me--


From the Land of Non-Sequiturs...
What is so freaky is that this Glastonbury also has owls.
Back at the first of the month, I was in Kansas City, visiting family, and went to the rose garden in Loose Park with my mother--it being Kansas City, and all, the hybrid teas were largely kaput, but the floribundas and grandifloras were going great guns, including a couple of those Fourth Of July specimens, a bunch of David Austin roses, which have that rosa centifolia gazillion petal thing going on, and then lots and lots of a pink thing called American Pillar, that seems to be the Rose That Will Not Die, and possibly even The Rose that Ate the World. I suspect it couldn't be discouraged for long, even with two chainsaws and misia's flamethrower.

And an owl!