Forty-Five Minutes of Fall

Today we tasted forty-five minutes of fall.

In this frenetic race called life, with its relentless cycle of tomorrows becoming todays and next week this week, the changing seasons arrive and depart with barely a notice, while our memory banks mechanically register yet another year of yesterdays.

We know this phenomenon; we live it.

Yet every once in a rare while, we resist.

We stop. We examine. We wonder.

And time slows.

Each moment persists,

not quite ready to slip into the past.

And as the cellphone's clever ringtone announces the imminent start of another dizzying lap,

we linger,

not quite ready to relinquish our rediscovered link

to the slower moving parts of this world we call home.

Legendary Lepidopterans

A look outside the window this morning revealed no less than three large orange and black butterflies fluttering by, recalling long ago legends of lepidopteran migration,

tales heard at my father's knee, of millions of monarchs winging their way south to the remote forests of Mexico for the winter.

A bit late in the year, I'd say, for creatures so frail to embark on such an epic journey. 

Left behind to die, I suppose.

Still, I think, first frost is yet a few weeks distant. 

Perhaps these three are simply late bloomers, like the last of the zinnias and lantana, pausing here for a spot of nectar before continuing a southward journey begun days or weeks ago somewhere up north.

 These are monarchs, after all.

The flyers of legend.

Seeing Red - October's Crimson Creeper

Evening temps tip-toed tantalizingly toward the thirties here on the edge of the Sandhills last weekend. 

And that brief dose of brisk autumn air has us seeing red today.

A low-lying little stand of sassafras has shed most of its own leaves in favor of a brilliant blanket of saw-toothed scarlet.

Virginia Creeper. 
Aptly named for her manner of movement, 
and a lovelier sight for the eyes by far than any name could conjure, 
clad as she is in such striking hues.

She crept up the fencepost in early spring, the better to climb the trunks and crawl out upon the limbs, encircling every available support throughout the long, hot months of summer,

attaining an inch at a time a proper perch from which to offer her autumn splendor. 

Lucky am I to have passed her by at just this moment...
October's crimson creeper.

Morning Shadows

A cup of joe, twelve grain toast with orange marmalade and the moon slipping into earth's shadow. 

Mellow moment here below.

A Different Lens

 As our loyal followers and frequent visitors know, Hoot Owl Karma relies heavily on photographs to relate our encounters with nature, and all the photos included in these pages are original photos captured by one or another member of the Randolph clan. While the younger among us are quite accomplished with their phone cameras, Dad depends almost exclusively upon his digital SLR. 

Recently, he's enjoyed the use of a new camera and lens courtesy of a super cool Father's Day gift from Julie and the boys last year. 

Unfortunately, Dad clumsily damaged the lens in late June, and its absence has impacted both the quality and quantity of Hoot Owl Karma posts since that time. 

He is pleased to announce, however, that after repeated failed attempts at repair, Julie collaborated with the good folks of Best Buy at Southpoint to completely replace the damaged lens today. 

With the autumn wildflowers near the peak of their blooming in central Carolina right now, we'll do our best to make up for lost time over the next few weeks, albeit through a different lens. 

The sunflowers, lobelia and purple aster, complete with photo-bombing skipper and goldenrod soldier beetle, were all captured this morning with the old digital Rebel, which still serves quite well in an emergency.

The variegated fritillary and lovely orange zinnias were test shots captured in the Best Buy parking lot courtesy of the replacement lens. 

It is our intent to make these the first of many glimpses of nature seen through a new and different lens, courtesy of Hoot Owl Karma.

Thanks again for tuning in...

Fair Photos - September Dilemma

August is at an end, and summer seems determined to assert itself at last, here on the brink of September in Central Carolina. The busy days of back-to-school are already back to the busy days of school, and Hoot Owl Karma's late summer hiatus is at an end as well. With the end of summer comes the annual award-winning Lee County Regional Fair, hosted by the Sanford Lions Club. 

And with the Fair comes the Youth Photography Exhibit, which Jay and Hunter plan to enter again this year. Last year, we scrambled to select and print some of their favorite shots from the previous year on our home computer and arrived at the exhibition hall mere minutes before the entry deadline. This year we've endeavored to avoid the chaos of last; we have five days left, and counting...

But picking and choosing from a year's worth of special moments can be hard, and they've had a particularly tough time deciding this year. 

Here are a few of the shots Hunter's considering...

Barred owl, bill still bloody from a recent meal, peers placidly down from its roadside perch along Highway 15/501 in late December, while red-tailed hawk looks up from it's meal of gray squirrel just a few weeks later in the heart of campus at UNC-Chapel Hill.

The toad in the middle of the road is another possibility, captured this summer in the aftermath of a warm late evening shower.

And an impressively large horsefly which somehow made its way inside the car with Hunter late last fall would have to be a dark horse candidate at this point. 

Unfortunately, all these photos would qualify in the same category, so Hunter will have to choose just one of these four to go along with his landscapes, buildings, and people.
We'll let you know how it goes...

The Blessing of an August Rain

The rainy August roadside is lush and green. 

Watered by unusually bountiful rains of late July, the verdant ditch bank is broken only by sporadic clumps of Solidago, a few eager goldenrods getting an early jump on fall. 

Then, suddenly, silently, a shower of orange sparks!

Our old friend, the yellow fringed orchid, Platanthera ciliaris.

A solitary plant this year on a roadside right-of-way populated by a dozen or more in the year just past. 

But a blessing nonetheless, on a dreary August morn. 

And just down the bank, mere meters away, a shout of boldest orange-almost-red.

Three wild lilies, at the peak of their blooming, reminding us again that the August rain, even (or especially) on a busy Saturday, is a most glorious blessing.

Enjoy.