Those who have followed this blog for any length of time know that summer is my least favorite season of the year. As I drove across the Great Plains today, returning to Missouri from Colorado, that sentiment was reinforced.
Traveling beneath a hot dome of high pressure, interesting weather was shunted to the north or south though a strong north wind raked the High Plains, producing a blast furnace effect. Bird sightings were limited to open country "black birds:" turkey vultures, crows, grackles and starlings. Only the occasional cloud of swallows broke that monotony. Absent were the spectacular migrant flocks of spring and fall (cranes, pelicans, geese, ducks) and the conspicuous, abundant raptors of winter.
Summer is the season for air conditioning and cruise control; of course, music helps to while away the hours. Nature, herself, has little to offer across the Great Plains (at least at the latitude of Interstate 70).
Traveling beneath a hot dome of high pressure, interesting weather was shunted to the north or south though a strong north wind raked the High Plains, producing a blast furnace effect. Bird sightings were limited to open country "black birds:" turkey vultures, crows, grackles and starlings. Only the occasional cloud of swallows broke that monotony. Absent were the spectacular migrant flocks of spring and fall (cranes, pelicans, geese, ducks) and the conspicuous, abundant raptors of winter.
Summer is the season for air conditioning and cruise control; of course, music helps to while away the hours. Nature, herself, has little to offer across the Great Plains (at least at the latitude of Interstate 70).
