Picknickers

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall

A brief update on the golden eagle camera-traps I wrote about two weeks ago: we haven’t been fortunate enough to lure in any eagles so far, but Paula has recovered some interesting wildlife shots. Oddly, she says, all the good stuff has been at the site behind the spruces at the top of First Field; the big cow carcass out at the Far Field hasn’t drawn in much of anything. I wonder if this might not be because the former site is near water (those tiny, ephemeral ponds I wrote about yesterday).

The critters in the gallery are a bobcat, a fisher, and a pair of red-tailed hawks. (Click on the thumbnails to see the full-sized images.)

Lynx rufus

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall

Woken by thirst & a hot gaze
from the mouth of the shelter: sun,
or mother dangling some new,
wet chew-toy for her grown kitten?
The dream visions slink
back behind the rocks, where
it’s always night. Yellow eye,
help me look for a drink under
these shelves of angled light.
Water has no scent of its own.
After dark, it’s simple to track it
by its purr: every large ravine
has a throat, a pulsing vein.
Its surface trembles, the loveliest of pelts.
But sometimes too there’s water
on top of the mountain,
above the head of the ravine.
Silent, & therefore
something to be wary of. Moving
only when the wind disturbs it.
Impossible to ambush.
Daylight buzzing in my whiskers,
I gust through the newly molted leaves
looking for that fierce glint.
__________

Written in response to the comments about anthropomorphism in my previous post.

Revised 10/31, partly in response to further comments from readers. Thanks, y’all.