I was so shocked yesterday morning at Prince William Forest Park to spot a bright white squirrel that my brain froze for a moment—it simply could not process the information transmitted by my eyes. We have black squirrels in the Washington DC area, but I never realized that an Eastern Gray Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) could be white.
My first thought was that it might be an albino squirrel, but when I zoomed in, I could see that its eyes are dark. I did a little poking about on the internet and learned that there are white morphs of the gray squirrel that have a rare gene that causes them to be white.
In response to a photo I posted on Facebook, Sue, a retired biology professor who authors the wonderful Backyard Biology blog, reminded me of a post she had written in 2013 entitled “A white…
As their young get bigger adult Egrets are busy keeping them fed.
For me this means there are more opportunities for decent in flight photographs. Now is the time to to work them, the young will be grown and out soon enough.
Tom and Kenne Turner (Tom would have been 77 today.)
POEM ON HIS BIRTHDAY
We are hairy men who may be thought of a “Twits,” but I dare say, are not. Why might you ask? If you look closely, you will not see tasty morsels in our beards, while Twits upon close review will have tiny little specks of dried-up scrambled eggs.
So says Roald Dahl, and he should know of all the disgusting things found in the beard of a twit, but no need to hold your noses.
So, what is it these hairy men are trying to hide? Is it an ugly face, you ask? No, not really, for we are two guys possessing good thoughts, which shone out of our faces like sunbeams, so we will always look lovely.
Again, Roald Dahl should know: ‘If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it.’
Even so, on this sand grain day in the bent bay’s grave I celebrate and spurn what would have been brother Tom’s driftwood
seventy-seventh wind turned age, shall seventy-seven bells sing struck.
— kenne
(Some lines in this poem are from Dylan Thomas’ poem, Poem On His Birthday. My brother loved quoting lines from Dylan Thomas’ poems.)
Tom and Kenne Turner (Tom would have been 77 today.)
A Pair of Ravens: Birds of the Darkness — Image by kenne
Southwest Window — Photo-Artistry by kenne
