With the temperatures now in the minus single digits, calm winds and cloudless skies, it is easy to get lost in the day. When I'm inside I look longingly down Adam's Sound, thinking that that is a trip I need to make soon, before the cracks appear. My thoughts increasingly turn to the birds that will soon (but not soon enough) return from their southern sojourns.
Yesterday, while everyone was still asleep, and the clients had been breakfasted, I thought I'd take a quick trip out to the St George Society cliffs, check on the aerie. Perhaps my path would cross that of the errant Snow Buntings, who have arrived about a month early and have seemingly been seen by my friends, but not by me. Leah's machine is now back working (and mine is hopefully soon to follow suit once a further part order arrives), so I fired it up, and headed out.
There were no birds at the nest, but I didn't really expect them quite yet. With the snowmobile off, and the silence enveloping everything again I laid down upon the seat. My head nestled in the crook of the handlebars, feet over the backrest I settled in, relishing the warmth of the sun. Two jets raced towards the sun, never have I seen two so close together, perhaps ten airplane lengths away from each other. I watched them emerge from the brightness, still locked in a chase, and head to the crowds down south.
I laid back there, enjoying the sun, mildly annoyed at the gas cap pressing between my shoulders (solved quickly by my gauntlets), and listened to the absolute stillness of it all. An errant breeze brushed my face and reminded me that I was outside, I shifted slightly to catch the full rays of the Sun on my face and then…
Then my snoring woke me. And woke me a second time and then a third before I stayed awake and enjoyed the moment swirling about me. High up, near the top of the cliffs a Raven appeared, soaring along its face, tiny and black along the red rock. It called, and did not stop calling, every phrase different, each playing off its echo. A variety of voices from one bird that was stunning. Then it was joined by a second, singing a different song, two voices, two echos, like some ethereal corvid choir. When they moved off, it was time to go. Glancing up, I saw the two wing tip to wing tip, quiet now, soaring back along the way they had come, leading me to town.
Comments
10 responses
Nice story. Love that header!
I’m so jealous. I love the self portrait.
Positively idyllic. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks Dave. I love the header also.
Thanks Tina. I think the self portrait captures my essence.
It was very idyllic Fawn.
This is so beautiful, Clare!
Kia ora Clare,
What a great spot and environment for a little snooze – in the right conditions of course. I love the title of your post as Asleep at the Wheel is one of my favourite bands, but wonder if you considered Asleep at the Handle Bars? Have a great day.
Cheers,
Robb
Portraits of our feet tell it all…some of my favorite shots!
Thank you Jochen.
Thanks Robb. Asleep at the Wheel just has so much more of a familiar feel to it than Asleep at the Handlebars, even if it is more apropros.
Thanks Bonnie.
This is my first visit to your blog – found you via IATB. I love the imagery you convey, and the introspection. Lovely post. Thanks 🙂
Welcome to the blog Amber, and thank you for the kind words.