It has been hitchcockian (hmmm, spellcheck doesn’t seem to think that that is a word, but then spellcheck doesn’t seem to think spellcheck is a word either, nor does it like hmmm, and perhaps capitalized would better, Hitchcockian, but no, it still doesn’t like that, and I guess this is why in the real world there are editors who know all about this) - I really need to start over.

It has been Hitchcockian in the studio today. First there was a massive wave of European Starlings that descended around my windows and landed on the lawn below. I did a standard ‘count by tens’ and came up with something over 200 birds, all chattering away and wrestling and eating something mysterious out of the lawn. I do not know enough about these birds, except that they were introduced to our continent via Central Park and have pretty much taken over the world. They are trash birds and we do not pay attention to trash birds, but really, as a species they are just like us.

But wait, that’s not it: the Hitchcockian madness continues: as soon as the sun hit the windows, there were masses of ladybugs crawling around the panes. Perhaps there are no real references in any Hitchcock films to insects, but you know what I mean. It took them about an hour and a half before they found their way in somehow, and then they spent the rest of the day crawling around the insides of the windows. As I write now, many of them are circling the ceiling lights. It is a little weird in here. Some research turned up the following facts: they are an introduced Asian species that would normally “overwinter in the cracks and crevices of of limestone outcroppings.” So they like white trim and warm places, and will disappear into the walls until spring, and generally do no harm. My info source (Mass Audubon), says that they are not harming the native populations and in fact are pretty beneficial in the war on aphids…

Who knew that under their spotted elytra was a striped abdomen? Not I…

I took an evening walk around the MMAWS after spending most of the day drawing. The forest floor was damp after the rains yesterday, the air had a definite northern chill, and everything was quite different. The cold front had completely transformed the environment. The activity in the meadow changed over from the steady hum of busy insects to the frenzied burying of seeds by the titmice, who were making nonstop trips to and from the sanctuary feeder. I want to key out (identify) all of the asters growing in the fields before a frost hits. I am noticing them differently - there is one species in particular that has been favored by bees - a few days ago I counted five different kinds of bee on one plant. Tonight there was only one species of bee, and none of those were doing very well. When the sun left the field, the temperature dropped pretty rapidly, and I saw a lot of bees slowing down, moving drunkenly from flower to flower. Some had given up flying altogether and were clinging to a flower head, still frantically gathering pollen with their front ends while their rears were pretty much paralyzed. Some of them were not moving.

Making a mental note to remember to check them at the end of my walk, I headed into the woods. The pine needle floor is usually a much quieter surface than the deciduous leaf litter, which makes for different noises at different places along the trails, but because of the moisture my steps were more uniformly soft than in the preceding days. At the back of the sanctuary I surprised two white-tailed deer, who slipped away into the undergrowth almost without a sound. It is amazing that such a large animal can disappear so silently, especially when the squirrels in the leaves sound like they are bear-sized.

The light was dying, so as I rounded the trail ridge I was surprised to see a nice little flock of migrant passerines. They were behaving almost insanely, especially for so late, and I realized that they were not going to hunker down here for the night, they were getting ready to migrate. There was still a quasi-north wind, more western than not, though the clouds that were gathering told a story of shifting and coming rain (I later checked the weather, and we have 100% chance of steady or heavy rain tonight). I guess they were going to get as far as they could… it was the latest (and darkest) I have ever watched warblers - standing in typical bird-watcher pose with my neck craned up to the tops of the trees (is this why we all end up with sciatica - has anyone ever done a study to see if this subculture is prone to back pain?). As I stood there they continued to feed in such a methodical way that it was a little disturbing, they paid absolutely no attention to me, and the species that tend to find food in the lower parts of the canopy were often only a few feet away. I watched them for roughly thirty minutes. When it started getting seriously dark and they began to peel off, their calls changing, and I felt left behind, and then I felt funny that I felt left behind. On the path back to the house, I checked on the bees. The ones on the warmer side of the path had all left. The ones on what had been the shadier side were all still clinging to the asters, none of them moving now. I looked closer and saw one washing its face, slowly and like a cat.