DK Photo: Dec 11, 2022, 7:15 am. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT
Flight C570 Air Goose
December 14, 2022 by 22 Comments
DK Photo: Dec 11, 2022, 7:15 am. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT
And then, Yes!
May 12, 2021 by 63 Comments
Notes:
- As I was driving out of the parking lot, I took one last glance to my right. What is that!?!
- DK @ Daybreak. Cove Island Park. May 12, 2021. 5:59 to 6:06 am.
No.
May 12, 2021 by 18 Comments
- Walked around Cove Island Park 3x. And Nothing. Found the two of them, but alone.
- DK @ Daybreak. Photos @ 4:53 to 5:00 am. Cove Island Park. May 12, 2021. 45° F.
Walking. It Ain’t Disney on the Sabbath.
May 2, 2021 by 51 Comments
5:50 a.m.
Go ahead, lip sync. I’ll wait. 362 consecutive days. Like in a Row. Morning walk @ Cove Island Park.
I can see her from the parking lot. She’s up. I rush to grab the camera gear, worried that she’s going to plop down again and I’ll miss the shot.
Yet, Something is off.
A raven approaches the nest with his shrill KRAA! KRAA! KRAA!
The male rushes towards it, hissing. Canadians, normally patient, and ever-courteous, can be pushed only so far. Nasty black scavenger, steps back, offers a half-a**ed kraa! and takes watch from a distance. I look around for a stone to join in the defense. Lucky for you Ray, I didn’t find one.
Mother Goose, meanwhile continues to peck away at her nest.
There’s no sign of eggs.
No sign of little ones.
I wait.
And watch.
No eggs. No little ones.
She’s pecking, poking, arranging. And then, she tugs and pulls on what appears to be a fetus, skin color, reddish orange.
I watch for a moment longer. And leave. Can’t watch this.
I walk up to the bridge, the entrance to the park. Take another look from this vantage point. No eggs. No little ones. Maybe they’ll both be gone by the time I return. And some kind soul will sweep the remains of that hardscrabble nest into Long Island Sound.
I walk around the park, not anxious to return to the funeral, and return 30 minutes later.
She’s still poking at her nest. Odd.
The raven has departed, tired of waiting for a free meal.
Her mate is now sitting on the pier. Must be waiting for her to be done grieving so they can move on.
I cross the bridge. Still no sign of any eggs, or little ones. Ever the optimist DK.
I look away. Sad, all of it. Heavy.
I get in the car, and turn up the heater. Cold? 53° F? I can’t bear to keep looking at the scene.
I’m ready to back out of the parking lot, and take one last look. She’s still cleaning her empty nest. What is she doing? Strap on your zoom lens and let’s see what she’s poking at.
I turn off the ignition, and get out of the car.
Camera, super zoom lens affixed, I walk back out to the fence and zoom in on the target…
Show Time!
April 30, 2021 by 19 Comments
DK @ Daybreak with Mother Goose doing some housecleaning. (Note Mate on look out, never far away.) 6:16 am. April 30, 2021. 61° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
And the show (still) MUST go on…
April 23, 2021 by 19 Comments
And the show MUST go on…
April 20, 2021 by 15 Comments
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night…
April 17, 2021 by 31 Comments
133 pictures taken on my morning walk. And only THIS one stirs the soul. Mother Goose @ Cove Island Park. 6:49 a.m. Saturday, April 17, 2021.
Nest. Where you make it.
April 11, 2021 by 42 Comments
And her mate was just to her right, keeping watch…
DK & Daybreak. Dense Fog. Cove Island Park. 7:26 a.m. April 11, 2021. 51° F.
T.G.I.F.: Running. With Mother Goose (3).
May 8, 2020 by 48 Comments
4:48 a.m. 8 hours of sleep. Rested.
I jump out of bed. Dress. Gear up.
It’s 5:04 a.m., and I’m out the door. Running. With Mother Goose. (Again.) 9th consecutive day pulled outside by The Call of the Wild.
44° F, feels like 42° F. No wind. No traffic. Dark. Full moon beams from up above. Jenny Offill: “The moonlight through the windshield. No one talks.”
Same route. Down the hill. Around the corner. Down the street to U.S. 1.
There, up ahead, silhouetted under the street lamp, is the Masked Woman. 5:09 a.m. Can’t be her. No chance. She hustles across the street. I glare at her. You better make way for me Lady. She says nothing, but sweeps both hands up to cover her face. It’s going to be a good day.
I run.
Down U.S. 1. I work my way around the construction, crossing the bridge, the highway and into The Cove.
The same pair of geese stand at the entrance, that’s them in the photo above.
I pause for a moment to snap the shot, and keep moving, pulled forward towards the main performance.
The same acceleration of heartbeat.
The same anticipation.
Running. With Mother Goose (2).
May 7, 2020 by 71 Comments
5:15 a.m.
In bed.
Both knees ache. Hips sore to the bone. I pass my right foot over my left toe, blister forming. I slide it further, abrasions on the tips of my little toes. Raw.
This would be the 8th consecutive day of running. My body screams No. But that’s not going to happen. She’s responsible. I must see if she’s there.
I check my watch. 43° F, feels like 39°. I bundle up.
5:35 a.m. and I’m out the door. Running. With Mother Goose. (Again.)
My pace is too quick. I’m winded at 0.5 miles, and she’s at 1.7. My God, you’re a child. So anxious to see Her.
I slow my pace and cross U.S. 1 into The Cove.
I see two of them at the turn, and stop to take a picture. That one above. Pink sky in the morning, sailor’s…
I shake the disappointment off. Her nest was further up. Maybe that’s not them.
I run, eyes looking ahead for her nesting along the guard rail. Christmas Eve at 8 years old.
What’s with the birds?
May 17, 2012 by 35 Comments
4:15 am. I’m running. Thoughts clanking and clanking and clanking around.
Mother Goose and 5 goslings on highway. Car approaching. I slow to see if they get out of the way. I stop. Car slows. Car stops.
Mother opens her full wing span and stands hissing in the middle of the highway – – guarding her babies against a 4000 pound mass of steel. Babies waddle off the road with Mother following closely behind. Car passes by.
I start running again. Another car approaching one mile out. I see the geese back on the highway.
Live & Learn 