A delicious south wind is blowing (it is the 15th of February), and I sit in the shade of a cedar6-tree and enjoy the air and the scene. A contrast, this, to the frozen world I was living in, less than a week ago.
? 35 ?
As I approached the creek, a single spotted7 sandpiper was teetering along the edge of the water, and the next moment a big blue heron rose just beyond him and went flapping away to the middle of the marsh. Now, an hour afterward8, he is still standing9 there, towering above the tall grass. Once when I turned that way I saw, as I thought, a stake, and then something moved upon it,—a bird of some kind. And what an enormous beak10! I raised my field-glass. It was the heron. His body was the post, and his head was the bird. Meanwhile, the sandpiper has stolen away, I know not when or where. He must have omitted the tweet, tweet, with which ordinarily he signalizes his flight. He is the first of his kind that I have seen during my brief stay in these parts.
Now a multitude of crows pass over; fish crows, I think they must be, from their small size and their strange, ridiculous voices. And now a second great blue heron comes in sight, and keeps on over the marsh and over the live-oak wood, on his way to the San Sebastian marshes11, or some point still more remote. A fine show he makes, with his wide expanse of wing, and his feet drawn12 up and standing ? 36 ? out behind him. Next a marsh hawk13 in brown plumage comes skimming over the grass. This way and that he swerves14 in ever graceful15 lines. For one to whom ease and grace come by nature, even the chase of meadow mice is an act of beauty, while another goes awkwardly though in pursuit of a goddess.
Several times I have noticed a kingfisher hovering16 above the grass (so it looks, but no doubt he is over an arm of the creek), striking the air with quick strokes, and keeping his head pointed17 downward, after the manner of a tern. Then he disappeared while I was looking at something else. Now I remark him sitting motionless upon the top of a post in the midst of the marsh.
A third blue heron appears, and he too flies over without stopping. Number One still keeps his place; through the glass I can see him dressing18 his feathers with his clumsy beak. The lively strain of a white-eyed vireo, pertest of songsters, comes to me from somewhere on my right, and the soft chipping of myrtle warblers is all but incessant19. I look up from my paper to see a turkey buzzard sailing majestically20 northward21. I watch him ? 37 ? till he fades in the distance. Not once does he flap his wings, but sails and sails, going with the wind, yet turning again and again to rise against it,—helping himself thus to its adverse22, uplifting pressure in the place of wing-strokes, perhaps,—and passing onward23 all the while in beautiful circles. He, too, scavenger24 though he is, has a genius for being graceful. One might almost be willing to be a buzzard, to fly like that!
The kingfisher and the heron are still at their posts. An exquisite25 yellow butterfly, of a sort strange to my Yankee eyes, flits past, followed by a red admiral. The marsh hawk is on the wing again, and while looking at him I descry26 a second hawk, too far away to be made out. Now the air behind me is dark with crows,—a hundred or two, at least, circling over the low cedars27. Some motive28 they have for all their clamor, but it passes my owlish wisdom to guess what it can be. A fourth blue heron appears, and drops into the grass out of sight.
Between my feet is a single blossom of the yellow oxalis, the only flower to be seen; and very pretty it is, each petal29 with an orange spot at the base.
? 38 ?
Another buzzard, another marsh hawk, another yellow butterfly, and then a smaller one, darker, almost orange. It passes too quickly over the creek and away. The marsh hawk comes nearer, and I see the strong yellow tinge30 of his plumage, especially underneath31. He will grow handsomer as he grows older. A pity the same could not be true of men. Behind me are sharp cries of titlarks. From the direction of the river come frequent reports of guns. Somebody is doing his best to be happy! All at once I prick32 up my ears. From the grass just across the creek rises the brief, hurried song of a long-billed marsh wren33. So he is in Florida, is he? Already I have heard confused noises which I feel sure are the work of rails of some kind. No doubt there is abundant life concealed34 in those acres on acres of close grass.
The heron and the kingfisher are still quiet. Their morning hunt was successful, and for to-day Fate cannot harm them. A buzzard, with nervous, rustling35 beats, goes directly above the low cedar under which I am resting.
At last, after a siesta36 of two hours, the heron has changed his place. I looked up ? 39 ? just in season to see him sweeping37 over the grass, into which he dropped the next instant. The tide is falling. The distant sand-hills are winking38 in the heat, but the breeze is deliciously cool, the very perfection of temperature, if a man is to sit still in the shade. It is eleven o’clock. I have a mile to go in the hot sun, and turn away. But first I sweep the line once more with my glass. Yonder to the south are two more blue herons standing in the grass. Perhaps there are more still. I sweep the line. Yes, far, far away I can see four heads in a row. Heads and necks rise above the grass. But so far away! Are they birds, or only posts made alive by my imagination? I look again. I believe I was deceived. They are nothing but stakes. See how in a row they stand. I smile at myself. Just then one of them moves, and another is pulled down suddenly into the grass. I smile again. “Ten great blue herons,” I say to myself.
All this has detained me, and meantime the kingfisher has taken wing and gone noisily up the creek. The marsh hawk appears once more. A killdeer’s sharp, rasping note—a familiar sound in St. Augustine—comes ? 40 ? from I know not where. A procession of more than twenty black vultures passes over my head. I can see their feet drawn up under them. My own I must use in plodding39 homeward.
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1
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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2
creek
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n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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3
marsh
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n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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4
eastward
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adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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5
ragged
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adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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6
cedar
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n.雪松,香柏(木) | |
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7
spotted
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adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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8
afterward
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adv.后来;以后 | |
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9
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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10
beak
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n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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11
marshes
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n.沼泽,湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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12
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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13
hawk
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n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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14
swerves
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n.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的名词复数 )v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15
graceful
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adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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16
hovering
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鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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17
pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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18
dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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19
incessant
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adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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20
majestically
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雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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21
northward
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adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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22
adverse
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adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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23
onward
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adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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24
scavenger
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n.以腐尸为食的动物,清扫工 | |
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25
exquisite
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adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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26
descry
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v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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27
cedars
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雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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28
motive
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n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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29
petal
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n.花瓣 | |
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30
tinge
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vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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31
underneath
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adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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32
prick
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v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
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33
wren
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n.鹪鹩;英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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34
concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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35
rustling
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n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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36
siesta
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n.午睡 | |
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37
sweeping
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adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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38
winking
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n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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39
plodding
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a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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