Summer Tanager has a few remarks prior to abandoning us. Cooler
nights will send him to those places where frost has been forbidden so
that Guava and Dragon Fruit and huge spiders might grow.
I heard him in the trees beyond the barn. His voice is an uttering
rather than a song. And I have called him a post structuralist,
because I believe he has no purpose to his commentary beyond the sheer joy
of listening to himself. And here, he and I have much in common.
Out from the brush beneath the Tanagers tree, a Fox Squirrel emerged with
a nut in his mouth. He is hiding them in the barn, and I am polite
in my discouragement. When the Tanager uttered, the Fox Squirrel saw
me and became still in that way that they have as though mind has left
them to cruise amongst dreams of less ordinary things.
Sharing, as I do, so much with the Summer
Tanager, we talk past each other quite happily. I told him that this
year I might have seen a Lazarus Lizard on the railing around the
house. The glimpses I have had of this lizard are fleeting, and
probably it is the young of something else, because Lazarus Lizards are
supposed not to have strayed far into Kentucky from Cincinnati. Yet
the people who lived on this ground some years before us hailed from
Cincinnati. They had children, so maybe.
He told me persimmons had been too
plentiful and his own children had over indulged on the rotten ones, causing
them to become unsteady and badly behaved. A circumstance he
thoroughly enjoyed because it put him in mind of his own youth. He has
been unable to eat persimmons since.
And there is one thing the Summer Tanager
and I finally agree upon, Morning Glories deserve their name.