Common Nature

Taken on 28 May 2024 at 21:00 US Eastern Daylight Time:

(Warning for flashing lights and shaky camera.)

( Cut. )

(Not included: the sound of passing sirens.)

Taken on 9 June 2024 at 07:21 US Eastern Daylight Time:



Taken on 27 June 2025 at 19:46 US Eastern Daylight Time:



Taken on 27 June 2025 at 19:47 US Eastern Daylight Time:



Taken on 2 July 2025 at 19:43 US Eastern Daylight Time:



This gradually took shape across the parking lot from a local Asian fusion restaurant over 2024; between recovering from Hurricane Ian and the COVID quarantine, changing hands, and changing formats (from the mid-century Cantonese-American the original owners had served for forty years to a pan-Asian combination of sushi, ramen, and Chinese), they’d spent the previous couple years uneasily gaining their bearings.

The garden’s proximity to the street, along with the lack of any obvious receptacle for offerings, makes it clear that this is a more ornamental than devotional site. (A Web search indicates the presence of a local Buddhist temple, but the address is a private residence, and home worship services are for who they’re for, which does not include curiosity-gawking spiritual tourists.)

My guess is that the white-flowering shrubs are Star Jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides), aka Confederate Jasmine, Chinese Star Jessamine, and Trader’s Compass, native to warm regions in South and East Asia, and widely planted in the Southeastern U.S. The flowers’ heady indolic fragrance is prized in perfumery, but I’m afraid I haven’t the right sensory range to enjoy them.

Taken last year, this is pictorial tax for my previous post; this little guy was one of a family headquartered in a vacant lot along one of my habitual shopping routes.





Note the ropes cordoning the space off, as well as the designated perch set up for the owls. In the upper background, across the path, is another staked-off owl nesting site; unusually for birds of prey, Burrowing Owls are social animals who sometimes form communities of multiple families.

(If I’ve slipped into Earnest School Essay Mode, it’s because this is stuff I myself am very much newly learning.)

I sure do!

I’m something of an astronomy nerd; you have to understand that the great solar eclipse of 8 April 2024 was something I’d been counting down to my whole life. In my native Dayton, Ohio, I’d gotten to witness the strange begrimed 40-watt sunlight (1) and dappled crescent shadows of the partial solar eclipses of 10 May 1994 and 21 August 2017, after having gotten a fleeting confirmatory glance through SolarShields under welder’s goggles: the exercise was a bit like hunting basilisks or Medusa.

Another point is that I’m acutely homesick for the seasonal markers of the place where I spent 90+% of my life: the violets and wild chives and flowering crabapples, and the two equinoctial yellows of Moraine honeylocusts: neon chartreuse foliage in the spring, and in the fall flaming saffron—turning to orange piles of cornflake crunch beneath the feet. Even the lawn weeds here are unfamiliar.

Until a couple years in advance—by which time it was too late—I had not anticipated that, by the time the total solar eclipse at long last came to Dayton, I would be gone; behold the southern Gulf Coast of Florida’s experience of the Grand Portentuous Celestial Event.

( Continue. )

Taken at 5:52 PM EST 22 December 2023, this is something I really should’ve posted a year ago; I’m squeezing it under the wire just as the outgoing Lunar Year expires.

From the parking lot of my neighborhood Publix: the Rabbit prepares to hand the year over to the Dragon.