The last couple days, watching White-throated Swifts slice the heat shimmer and smoke haze has been a cherished joy; the sudden, sharp drops and rises of the swifts match the landscape they call home. They defy gravity, something I’ve been fighting the last few days. Yesterday, it was 105*F where I was–20*F above average. I drove until about midnight to break free of temperatures in the 90s and signs advising roadside fire crews. When I finally slept, it was on a BLM gas lease. It was available; I was tired. I fell asleep to strange clankings, screechings, hissings.
Rock Wrens scolded me during morning coffee. I apologized to them. This is a new habit I’ve put on, acknowledging to the animals I meet the incompatibility between the actions of my kind and the needs of theirs.