The naturalist in me regards November as a month of calm turmoil, a condition I can best describe as a wrestling match between emotion and intellect.

I miss hearing crickets chirp and cicadas drone. I miss seeing dragonflies flitting about my yard and butterflies visiting my flowerbeds. I miss the company of wildflower blooms and of chipmunks and ground squirrels.

I enjoy searching local reservoirs for loons and grebes migrating from Canada and Alaska. I enjoy searching fields and pastures for snowy owls and foothills telephone and power lines for northern pygmy-owls. I enjoy hearing the sounds of flapping wings as flocks of ducks fly overhead.

This blend of what I miss and what I enjoy during November represents the superficial blend of my naturalist’s turmoil.

November’s position tow

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