Two Wheel Tuesday: Things in the Dark
Wrapping up Two Wheel Tuesday I was heading out of the park; the airfield was to my left and that flat area rising to the hills on my right. All the dry plant material was pungent in the evening air, in a pleasant way. Like the scent of freshly mown hay, it was an earthy fragrance and I continued to breathe it in deeply. Small creatures scurried around in the beige stalks of dried mustard but the place was otherwise abandoned of earthly life, park walkers having long since departed for home. Lights of the airfield flashed, or glowed blue, brilliant against the black; somewhere a propeller hummed, spinning rapidly in anticipation of its jump to the air. These were minor distractions, mere background noise to that overwhelming scent.
But then things changed. I rode through one of those cold spots, odd because it was such a warm evening. I've written about those spots before, wandering spirits according to superstition. This cold spot was different - the sudden drop in temperature was accompanied by a sudden change in the scent. The new scent was foul, better described as a stench; it was like riding past one of those restroom buildings back in the campground, only more potent. I immediately thought, oh man, that guy (the wandering spirit) must have died while taking a dump. Thankfully those cold spots with or without the accompanying stink are limited and, soon enough, I passed through it, once again breathing deeply of the pungent plant material to clear out the other.
That spot in the middle of the photo above, reflecting colors of red and yellow, is an eyeball. For the past two weeks now, as it will for the remainder of the winter, the darkness has brought out the nighttime's flying, hunting creatures. Last year I was sure that at least some of them were owls. There was something about this one though, it didn't sit right. Plus there was only one eyeball - owls' eyes are both at the front of their face, so I should have been seeing two. When it jumped to the air its flight was erratic but, like an owl's, silent. It was like a small hawk, a night hawk I realized. And I am pretty sure that is what it was - a Lesser Night Hawk. Cool.
But then things changed. I rode through one of those cold spots, odd because it was such a warm evening. I've written about those spots before, wandering spirits according to superstition. This cold spot was different - the sudden drop in temperature was accompanied by a sudden change in the scent. The new scent was foul, better described as a stench; it was like riding past one of those restroom buildings back in the campground, only more potent. I immediately thought, oh man, that guy (the wandering spirit) must have died while taking a dump. Thankfully those cold spots with or without the accompanying stink are limited and, soon enough, I passed through it, once again breathing deeply of the pungent plant material to clear out the other.
That spot in the middle of the photo above, reflecting colors of red and yellow, is an eyeball. For the past two weeks now, as it will for the remainder of the winter, the darkness has brought out the nighttime's flying, hunting creatures. Last year I was sure that at least some of them were owls. There was something about this one though, it didn't sit right. Plus there was only one eyeball - owls' eyes are both at the front of their face, so I should have been seeing two. When it jumped to the air its flight was erratic but, like an owl's, silent. It was like a small hawk, a night hawk I realized. And I am pretty sure that is what it was - a Lesser Night Hawk. Cool.
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