I really want to keep playing with that technique I was foolin' with yesterday.
I also have six sketches to finalize and nine and a half zodiac animal paintings to do before the end of the month, plus Digger.
Carrot, meet stick. (Hi, stick.) Stick, say hello to Carrot. (Pleasure to be working with you, carrot.)
Okay. If I can get a zodiac painting completed and a Digger done today, I get to fool around in the studio. If I don't...um....well, sucks to be me, I guess.
And now, to chase the carrot!
Update: Digger done! Go carrot! Go carrot!
There are sparrows hopping around the platform feeder.
This may seem like an absurdly common occurance, but for me, it isn't. For whatever reason, sparrows are generally completely uninterested in my feeders. They may occasionally prowl around the ground under my landlady's feeder, but they come up on my deck once in a blue moon, and leave quickly.
And yet, suddenly, these last few days, not having changed the food at all, the sparrows are appearing, tiny little brown shapes hopping in among the hulking doves.
I would suspect the new jury-rigged dripping birdbath (i.e. a bottle with a hole in it dripping into a trough) was attracting them, but they aren't using the birdbath at all. (Hardly anything is. Perhaps it's too cold, or perhaps they just hate it.)
But there they are, sparrows. Huh.
I took a nap this afternoon, and had the usual struggle with hypnogogic hallucinations and false wakings on the backend of it.
In one of them, I was looking outside, and there were three or four indigo buntings there.
"YES!" I thought--and then "CRAP! Am I dreaming?" So I kept closing my eyes and thinking really hard about waking up, and opening them again--and it was the same landscape as before, so I thought "Hey! I must be awake! Those are really indigo buntings! Wow!" This thrilled me to no end. I was glued to the glass watching the feeder. "And another bunting! And another one! And a wood thrush! And a...kildeer...wearing...aviator goggles..."
I woke up for real a moment later, bitterly disappointed, and was so miffed about there not being indigo buntings on the feeder that the fact I was completely paralyzed and my usual trick of inhaling deeply wasn't snapping me out of it only served to piss me off further, rather than making me panic. Eventually the paralysis broke, but the sulk did not.
My brain has both an astounding ability to generate bird sightings in my dreams, a profound sense of cute, and a really nasty sense of humor.
And now there's a squirrel orgy.
This differs from the usual raunchy rodent romp in one key element. There's a branch that hangs suspected over my deck, which was originally rather more horizontal, but which split in half where it meets the tree during a storm some months back. It's too firmly attached to get down--we tried--so it dangles there, swaying madly in every breeze. It's a full sized, many-splitting branch full of long whippy twigs and whatnot, with the end, where the thinnest twigs are, perhaps six feet above the deck.
A male squirrel was doing the usual roll-and-crawl over a female squirrel, and she was not really happy with it, so she jumped onto the thin twigs of this branch, perhaps thinking that he wouldn't follow. Foolish female squirrel! I coulda told her better. The male was not even remotely daunted, and leapt onto the thin branches. Branch swaying madly with their movements, they careened around, clinging to twigs much too small to balance on, falling off, catching themselves, swarming back up, usually upside down, with the male trying to groom the female into acceptance and the female trying to shove him off the branch.
Then another male gets the whiff of "Ooh! Receptive female!" and comes running. And HE leaps onto the branch.
At this point, it resembles an orgy being attempted in the rigging of a ship designed by Dali. The female is now shoving two of them, they're alternating between trying to groom her and trying to kick each other's tails. It's like a writhing ball of stubby grey snakes, as they all fight for balance, lose it, fall, catch themselves with their feet, come charging back (for a value of "charging" that involves an abortive leap, some determined inching, and some slithering that looks like a miniature anaconda climbing a rope ladder) etc.
Then a third male shows up.
The other two are having none of this. He's on the tree trunk making "Hey, baby!" noises, and the two original males turn and lunge at him. No ogling from the tree trunk! You don't want to make an idiot of yourself on this twiggy jungle gym, you don't get any nookie! So they're chasing him around the tree trunk four or five times and off, while the bereft female clings to her slender twig and tries to catch her breath, swaying in a manner that makes me practically seasick to watch. But lo! Back they come, our two Casanovas, and you can practically see the female squirrel roll her eyes, and the ball of squirrel attempted lovin'/fightin' is remade.
I don't think either of the males ever did succeed, but they did manage to wear themselver out pretty good...