Amidst spruce needles, a Gray Catbird’s mew captivated me; a hidden minstrel whose dulcet mimicry and secretive charm turned my backyard in Ithaca into an amphitheater of nature’s most intricate symphonies.
In my backyard, amidst the spruce trees that seem to touch the sky, I had a unique encounter with a little gray bird known as the Dumetella carolinensis, or more commonly, the Gray Catbird. I learned that “Dumetella” comes from the Latin word for “thorny thicket”, hinting at its penchant for skulking in dense underbrush, often hidden from sight. Its species name, “carolinensis”, pays homage to the Carolinas, though this bird has certainly made a comfortable home here too.
This particular visitor had a call reminiscent of a cat’s mew, a curious sound that first drew my attention. As I peeked through the window, I noticed it wasn’t just imitating felines; it was a veritable mimic, echoing the songs of other birds, even copying the croaks of tree frogs, and sometimes the mechanical noises of our own making. Its syrinx, a true marvel of nature, allows it to produce two sounds simultaneously – an impressive feat for such a small creature.
Unlike the showy northern mockingbird or the brown thrasher, which repeat their musical phrases several times, this Gray Catbird preferred to sing each of its phrases just once. Its song was a bit raspier, less melodic but still captivating in its own right.
It’s interesting that the Gray Catbird often chooses to remain hidden when it sings, favoring the inner sanctuary of bushes or trees like the spruce in my yard, a natural stage set by verdant leaves and branches. And while I watched, it seemed content in its concealment, a master of melody cloaked in foliage.
As I observed it, I recalled reading that the Gray Catbird’s diet is as varied as its repertoire of sounds. Fruits and berries make up about half of its diet. This little bird has quite the palate, enjoying a smorgasbord that includes mealworms, earthworms, beetles, and other insects, not to mention the bounty of summer offerings such as ants, beetles, grasshoppers, caterpillars, moths, and a selection of berries from holly, cherry, elderberry, poison ivy, bay, and blackberries.
I made a mental note of the date, captured in the metadata of the photograph I snapped: 2021, from my home in Ithaca. A simple image, yet it encapsulated a serene moment of connection with a creature so adept at concealment and mimicry, a moment I would treasure. The Gray Catbird, with its unique song and dietary habits, has become a beloved part of my backyard symphony.
Reference: wikipedia, Gray Catbird.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Imagine you’re soaring with ospreys over Cayuga’s shimmering waters, preparing the nest, embracing the ritual of spring—a majestic cycle of life awaits you.
As the first warm breezes of early spring ruffle the chilled waters at the south end of Cayuga Lake, anticipation rises in me. I am a female Osprey, returning alone from far to the south along the old sky-roads. We do not migrate as a pair; my mate often reaches the nest ahead of me to reclaim the site and begin repairs. Still, this is the place we claim again, season after season.
Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park. Cayuga Lake in the distance.
On arrival I wheel high above the shoreline, searching for the platform we left to winter. There it stands—the tall sentinel above the lake. He is there, too, calling once as he lifts, and the rim already shows the first fresh sticks of the year. Against the bright sky the nest looks rough-hewn, yet every branch lies to a purpose.
Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park.
As I settled onto the platform, tthe familiar tilt of the timbers and the dry rattle of last year’s sticks steady me. I meticulously inspected our creation, the repository of our hopes and future lineage. My mate and I ferry fresh twigs and weeds, wedging them into the rim and lacing the walls tight against the spring winds.
In due time, beneath the sheltering rim, I laid a small clutch of mottled eggs—the culmination of our bond, the promise of continuity. Through the weeks that follow I keep them warm and dry, turning them with my beak and settling the heat of my breast upon them. My mate does the heavy work of provision—fish after fish to the rail—and stands guard, calling when intruders drift close. Now and then he eases onto the eggs while I feed, but the watching and warming are chiefly mine.
Two Osprey perched on the nest near the Birding Trail of Cass Park.
The world around us burgeoned with life. The lake’s surface now rippled with the activity of fish – a bounty for our growing family. Days turned into weeks, and our vigilance was rewarded as the first cracks appeared in the eggs. The chicks emerged, delicate yet voracious, their mouths agape for the nourishment we unceasingly provide.
Thank you Candace E. Cornell of the Cayuga Lake Osprey Network for your helpful advice.
For further information: —–Poole, Alan F. ; 2019, “Ospreys: The Revival of a Global Raptor”; Johns Hopkins University Press —Mackrill, Tim; 2024; “The Osprey”; Bloomsbury Publishing
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Witness a duel not of might, but of vibrant melodies between the cardinal and song sparrow. This 14-second video captures a fleeting yet profound moment in the Finger Lakes’ springtime chorus. Join us in unraveling the significance behind this avian serenade.
In the serene backdrop of the Finger Lakes in upstate New York, an enchanting encounter unfolds as the first whispers of spring touch the air. It’s March 14th, a day that marks the gentle shift from the silent, introspective winter to the lively, expressive season of spring. On this day, a captivating spectacle takes place — a duel not of might, but of melody. Two distinguished songbirds, a male cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) with its vibrant red plumage that seems to capture the very essence of life itself, and a male song sparrow (Melospiza melodia), modest in color yet profound in voice, engage in an early springtime symphony.
This 14-second video, garnished with brevity, captures a fleeting moment in nature’s grand concert, where these feathered musicians compete, not for supremacy, but for the sheer joy of song and the chance to herald the new season. The cardinal, with its rich, whistling tunes, fills the air with a repertoire of songs that resonate with the promise of new beginnings. Meanwhile, the song sparrow, with its intricate melodies that vary dramatically from bird to bird, offers a counterpoint that is both complex and captivating.
This auditory duel, set against the tranquil beauty of the Finger Lakes, is more than just a display of vocal prowess. It’s a ritual that speaks to the heart of nature’s cycle, a testament to the resilience and adaptability of these species. As these songbirds vie for the attention of mates and assert their presence in the spring landscape, they also remind us of the enduring beauty and mystery of the natural world. You’ll also catch the call of a crow and, in the distance, another Cardinal.
This moment, brief yet infinitely rich, invites us to pause and listen, to lose ourselves in the simple yet profound joy of birdsong. It’s a reminder that, even in the quietest corners of the world, life thrums with vibrancy and the promise of renewal. Join us as we delve into the story behind this melodic encounter, exploring the significance of song in the lives of these birds and the heralding of spring in the Finger Lakes.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
As my wife, Pam, and I entered the breezy expanse of the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge, the world seemed to slow down, allowing us to savor every moment of my journey along Blackpoint Drive. The sky, a sprawling canvas of muted greys, reflected in the wind ruffled waters, enhancing the tranquility of this haven.
Our first encounter was with the elegant Roseate Spoonbills (Platalea ajaja), their vibrant pink feathers a stark contrast against the earthy tones of the marsh. They waded with purpose, their spoon-shaped bills sifting through the water, a dance of survival that was both methodical and beautiful.
In the company of the spoonbills were the stoic Great Egrets (Ardea alba), statuesque in their white plumage. They stood motionless, like sentinels guarding the water’s edge, only to strike with lightning speed when prey ventured too close.
We watched as the Glossy Ibises (Plegadis falcinellus) dipped their curved bills into the water, each movement a study of precision, their dark feathers glistening with an iridescent sheen when caught by the light.
Amongst these avian aristocrats, the unassuming American White Ibises (Eudocimus albus) went about their business. Their red beaks probed the shallows, unperturbed by the presence of their more colorful neighbors or by my watchful eyes.
As we ventured further, the landscape shifted, the water opening up to reveal a gathering of Spoonbills and White Ibises, a community united by the need to feed and the safety of numbers. The occasional flap of wings and contented calls created a symphony that celebrated life in these wetlands.
Isolation took on a new meaning when I spotted a solitary Roseate Spoonbill, its reflection a perfect mirror image on the water’s surface. It was a moment of quiet introspection, the bird and I alone in our thoughts.
Another scene captured my attention as a single spoonbill foraged alongside a Glossy Ibis. The two species, different in appearance and yet similar in their quest for sustenance, shared the space in harmonious coexistence.
Further along, the vista opened up, and we were greeted by a panoramic view of spoonbills dotted along the distant shoreline, the greenery forming a lush backdrop to their pink hues. The expanse of the refuge unfolded before me, a reminder of the vastness and the wild beauty that had drawn us here.
On another stretch, the spoonbills perched in the green embrace of the mangroves, their pink feathers a burst of color among the leaves. It was a scene of natural artistry, the birds blending yet standing out against their verdant stage.
In the final leg of our journey, I found spoonbills perched high in the shrubbery, a testament to the refuge’s diversity. Even in the dense foliage, life thrived, and these birds, usually seen wading, now adorned the treetops like living ornaments.
This drive along Blackpoint was more than a mere observation; it was a passage through a world where time held little sway, and nature was the sole architect. Each bird, each ripple on the water, and each whisper of the grass told a story of existence, resilience, and the intricate web of life. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, we found a connection to the earth and its inhabitants that would stay with us long after.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
On the winding Blackpoint Wildlife Drive, Pam and I were spellbound by a ballet of Roseate Spoonbills and Wood Storks, a wild canvas coming alive, revealing the magic bestowed by our cherished Senior Passport
As Pam and I embarked on our journey along the Blackpoint Wildlife Drive we found ourselves privy to an otherworldly marshland assembly. Our eyes were drawn to the stately Wood Storks, or Mycteria americana, standing with a poise that belied their somewhat awkward appearance. Their towering figures were hunched in contemplation, their bald heads surveying the waters for a potential feast.
Beside them Roseate Spoonbills (Platalea ajaja) painted the landscape with strokes of vivid pink. Their spoon-shaped bills, an evolutionary masterpiece, skimmed the shallow waters. It was a delightful contrast, the elegant pink plumage among the grasses, like a splash of paint on a raw canvas.
Companion to these gentle giants, the diminutive Tricolored Heron, Egretta tricolor, stalked the shallows. Its slender form was a study in grace, and the blue-gray feathers shimmered with a hint of lavender as it moved with stealthy precision, a silent hunter amidst the reeds.
The discovery felt like stumbling upon a secret meeting, a council of the feathered kind, where each bird played its role in the delicate balance of the ecosystem. Pam and I shared a look of awe, our whispered words lost in the gentle rustling of the wind. There was a sense of unity, of different species coexisting in harmony, and we were the transient witnesses to their world.
Our journey within Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge was not just a passage through land but through time. Each turn of the drive revealed another chapter of this living story, and our hearts raced with the excitement of what we might find next. The National Park Service Senior Passport, which we clutched like a treasure map, granted us the privilege to explore this bounty of nature. It was more than a pass; it was a key to worlds unseen and adventures untold.
As senior citizens, this passport to nature’s sanctuaries was a reminder that wonderment has no age. It afforded us the freedom to explore, to learn, and to lose ourselves in the beauty of our nation’s natural heritage. Each stamp in our passport was not just a mark of where we had been, but a memory etched into our lives, a story waiting to be told.
This drive, with Pam by my side, was more than birdwatching. We communicated with nature, laying testament to the beauty that lay in the simple things, the everyday miracles of life that often go unnoticed. We left the Blackpoint Wildlife Drive with a renewed sense of purpose and a reminder of our place in this vast, interconnected web of life.
We returned home with our spirits lifted and our minds filled with the colors of the birds—the Wood Storks, the Roseate Spoonbills, the Tricolored Heron—and the many unnamed creatures that had crossed our paths. It was a mosaic of life, each creature a piece that completed this intricate puzzle of existence. Our encounter with this unusual congregation was a gift, a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a chapter in our ongoing adventure, one we would recount with smiles and a sparkle in our eyes for years to come.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Discover the captivating world of Laughing Gulls, the jesters of Cocoa Beach’s shores. Dive into their lives, exploring the dance of courtship, the adaptability in their diet, and their vital role in the coastal symphony.
On the shores of Cocoa Beach, where the Atlantic’s waves gently knead the sands of Brevard County, Laughing Gulls (Leucophaeus atricilla) enact their daily ballet of survival and adaptation. In the span of mere minutes, the shifting light of Florida’s coastal theater presents two scenes, each with the same protagonist yet donned in starkly different costumes.
The Many Faces of Adaptation
The first gull, captured against the frothy lace of the incoming tide, is the epitome of the breeding plumage: a sleek, black hood that starkly contrasts its pearl-grey wings. This attire is not merely for allure but speaks of its readiness to engage in the rituals of courtship and the responsibilities of rearing the next generation. This black hood, a seasonal crown, fades as the duties of breeding wane, revealing the less conspicuous garb of the non-breeding season—a mottled grey head atop the same sturdy body, ready to blend into the off-season’s landscape.
Laughing Gull with breeding plumageLaughing Gull, nonbreeding plumage
Minutes Of Separation
The mere minutes that separate the two photographs are but a whisper in the grand dialogue of evolutionary time. Yet, they offer a glimpse into the ever-present duality of the Laughing Gull’s life. In one, the gull stands resolute, black-headed and bold against the soft chaos of the sea’s edge. In the other, its head appears dusted with the wisdom of age, a visual softening that speaks to the less confrontational time of year.
Here are some observations to make sense of this disparity:
Overlap of Molting Periods: Laughing Gulls do not all breed at the same time; some individuals may start molting into or out of breeding plumage earlier or later than others. This can result in birds with different plumage being seen together.
Varied Maturity: Younger gulls or those not yet of breeding age may not have developed the breeding plumage, while adults in the same flock may display full breeding colors.
Breeding Colonies: Gulls often nest in colonies where birds in different stages of the breeding cycle can be observed together, including those that may have lost mates or failed to breed and therefore did not develop breeding plumage.
Health or Nutritional Status: Sometimes a bird’s plumage can be affected by its health or nutritional status. A gull in poor health might not molt into breeding plumage as expected.
Geographic and Climatic Factors: Local environmental conditions can influence the timing of molting. Birds in the same location can experience different environmental cues that might affect their molt.
Non-breeding Visitors: During the breeding season, some non-breeding birds may still be present and intermingle with breeding birds, either because they are passing through the area or they are non-breeding residents.
Extended Breeding Season: In areas with a long breeding season, such as in subtropical and tropical regions, the breeding and non-breeding plumages can be seen at the same time due to the extended period over which breeding can occur.
Masters of the Coastal Realm
The Laughing Gulls are more than just residents of the coast; they are its caretakers and witnesses. Their laughing calls are synonymous with the ocean’s breath, a soundscape that harmonizes with the rhythmic crashing of waves. These birds thrive in the intertidal zone, a challenging environment where land and sea engage in a perpetual tussle. Here, they must be opportunistic, agile, and resourceful, for the beach offers both a cornucopia of food and the threat of unpredictability.
The Ebb and Flow of Existence
The life of a Laughing Gull is intimately tied to the ebb and flow of the tides. Their diet is a testament to their adaptability, comprising anything the sea yields—fish, crustaceans, and even the unfortunate insects that stray too close to the brine. They are pirates of the shore, unafraid to snatch a meal from another bird or scavenge the remains of human activity.
Reflections on Change and Constancy
Laughing Gulls are the embodiment of the sea’s narrative around us—a story of change and constancy. Their lives are a testament to the tumultuous history of the ocean, and their presence is a thread that connects us to the vast, blue mystery. They remind us that, while the sea’s moods are many and its faces ever-changing, it remains a central force in the narrative of life on Earth.
In the Face of Tomorrow
In the space between these two images, we find a profound lesson on the nature of time and the resilience of life. The Laughing Gulls of Cocoa Beach, with their shifting plumage and timeless cries, are messengers of the past, envoys of the present, and harbingers of the future. As we contemplate their existence, we are reminded of our own place within the natural world—a world that requires our understanding and protection, lest the laughter of these gulls fades into the silent archives of history.
The Laughing Gulls of Cocoa Beach continue their dance, unfazed by the human gaze, their lives a fluid adaptation to the sea’s caprices. And as the sun marches across the sky, casting the story of these gulls into relief against the shifting sands, we are privileged to observe, to learn, and to cherish the Atlantic Ocean’s enduring tale.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Discover the elegance of the American Coot through our journey at Merritt Island, where these unsung avians dance across the water, crafting nature’s own symphony of survival and grace.
There we were, Pam and I, standing before the serene waters of the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge, when a cluster of American Coots (Fulica americana) caught our eyes. Locally known as mud hens, marsh hens, or pond ducks, these coots were anything but mundane. Their dark plumage blended with the ripples, while their ivory bills gleamed like beacons, leading our gaze across the liquid expanse.
The Coot’s Constellation
As a throng, they moved with purposeful grace, a constellation of birds, each a star in their own right. With lobed toes spread like aquatic fans, they paddled through the water, their movements an embodiment of nature’s ingenuity. These “poule d’eau,” as the French settlers once called them, displayed a mastery over their domain, both in water and on land.
Social Weave
A Raft of American Coots
The coots assembled not as a random flock but as a deliberate collective, a raft in both name and function. They maneuvered with a collective intelligence, each bird’s action rippling through the group, exemplifying the coots’ penchant for community. Their group dynamics, a blend of cooperation and competition, painted a picture of the delicate balance within ecosystems.
An Ecological Perspective
In the tapestry of the refuge’s ecology, the American Coot stitched its niche with precision. Whether known as “baldpate” or “crow duck,” these birds were critical to the habitat they frequented, acting as both consumers and contributors. They pruned the vegetation, controlling its growth, and served as prey, connecting the food web in a cycle that spanned generations.
The Taxonomic Twist: Coots vs. Ducks
As the coots continued their ballet on the water, I turned to Pam, ready to demystify the common misconception that coots and ducks are close relatives. “Though they share the wetland stage,” I began, “these two are cast in different roles by nature’s hand.”
Orders Apart
Coots are members of the order Gruiformes, which includes rails and cranes, characterized by their elongated bodies and short wings. Ducks, on the other hand, belong to the order Anseriformes, which also encompasses swans and geese, known for their broad, flat bills and webbed feet.
Distinct Lineages
This taxonomic separation marks a deep evolutionary divide. The Gruiformes, with their lobed toes and distinctive calls, represent a lineage adapted for a life traversing the marshy edges of the world. Anseriformes, with their specialized bills for filtering and dabbling, reveal a lineage fine-tuned for exploiting the aquatic resources more extensively.
The Cultural Mosaic
Despite their commonality, coots have etched a place in cultural folklore, often overshadowed by more colorful avian neighbors. Yet, their ubiquity across North American wetlands has made them a familiar sight, a symbol of the wild’s persistent pulse. To us, they were the embodiment of the unsung wilderness, a chapter in the storybook of natural history.
Embracing the Ensemble
As the day waned, the water transformed into a canvas of orange and purple hues, with the coots as its subjects. “Behold the marsh’s musicians,” I mused to Pam, “each note they play is a beat in the heart of the wild.” Our encounter with the American Coot—a bird of many names but one singular, remarkable essence—was a harmonious reminder of nature’s interconnected ballet.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
These two views of Imogene Powers Johnson Center for Birds and Biodiversity across Sapsucker Woods Pond on a March afternoon are separated by 12 months, a year. Wilson Trail, Sapsucker Woods, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York.
2023 using the IPhone 14 ProMax triple camera, raw format, edited on the phone
In the foreground is the cattail plant, the North American species Typha latifolia. There are over 30 species in this useful genera.
2022 using the IPhone 7 back camera
Culinary
Many parts of the Typha plant are edible to humans. Before the plant flowers, the tender inside of the shoots can be squeezed out and eaten raw or cooked. The starchy rhizomes are nutritious with a protein content comparable to that of maize or rice. They can be processed into flour with 266 kcal per 100 grams and are most often harvested from late autumn to early spring. They are fibrous, and the starch must be scraped or sucked from the tough fibers. Baby shoots emerging from the rhizomes, which are sometimes subterranean, can be picked and eaten raw. Also underground is a carbohydrate lump which can be peeled and eaten raw or cooked like a potato. The plant is one championed by survival experts because various parts can be eaten throughout the year. Plants growing in polluted water can accumulate lead and pesticide residues in their rhizomes, and these should not be eaten.
The rind of young stems can be peeled off, and the tender white heart inside can be eaten raw or boiled and eaten like asparagus. This food has been popular among the Cossacks in Russia and has been called “Cossack asparagus.” The leaf bases can be eaten raw or cooked, especially in late spring when they are young and tender. In early summer the sheath can be removed from the developing green flower spike, which can then be boiled and eaten like corn on the cob. In mid-summer when the male flowers are mature, the pollen can be collected and used as a flour supplement or thickener.
Agriculture
The seeds have a high linoleic acid content and can be used to feed cattle and chickens. They can also be found in African countries like Ghana.
Harvesting cattail removes nutrients from the wetland that would otherwise return via the decomposition of decaying plant matter. Floating mats of cattails remove nutrients from eutrophic bodies of freshwater.
Building material
For local native tribes around Lake Titicaca in Peru and Bolivia, Typha were among the most important plants and every part of the plant had multiple uses. For example, they were used to construct rafts and other boats.
During World War II, the United States Navy used the down of Typha as a substitute for kapok in life vests and aviation jackets. Tests showed that even after 100 hours of submersion, the buoyancy was still effective.
Typha are used as thermal insulation in buildings as an organic alternative to conventional insulating materials such as glass wool or stone wool.
Paper
Typha stems and leaves can be used to make paper. It is strong with a heavy texture and it is hard to bleach, so it is not suitable for industrial production of graphical paper. In 1853, considerable amounts of cattail paper were produced in New York, due to a shortage of raw materials.[33] In 1948, French scientists tested methods for annual harvesting of the leaves. Because of the high cost, these methods were abandoned, no further research was done. Today Typha is used to make decorative paper.
Fiber
Fibers up to 4 meters long can be obtained from the stems when they are treated mechanically or chemically with sodium hydroxide. The stem fibers resemble jute and can be used to produce raw textiles. The leaf fibers can be used as an alternative to cotton and linen in clothing. The yield of leaf fiber is 30 to 40 percent and Typha glauca can produce 7 to 10 tons per hectare annually.
Biofuel
Typha can be used as a source of starch to produce ethanol. Because of their high productivity in northern latitudes, Typha are considered to be a bioenergy crop.
Other
The seed hairs were used by some indigenous peoples of the Americas[which?] as tinder for starting fires. Some tribes also used Typha down to line moccasins, and for bedding, diapers, baby powder, and cradleboards. One Native American word for Typha meant “fruit for papoose’s bed”. Typha down is still used in some areas to stuff clothing items and pillows. Typha can be dipped in wax or fat and then lit as a candle, the stem serving as a wick. Without the use of wax or fat it will smolder slowly, somewhat like incense, and may repel insects.
The flower stalks can be made into chopsticks. The leaves can be treated to weave into baskets, mats, or sandals. The rushes are harvested and the leaves often dried for later use in chair seats. Re-wetted, the leaves are twisted and wrapped around the chair rungs to form a densely woven seat that is then stuffed (usually with the left over rush).
Small-scale experiments have indicated that Typha are able to remove arsenic from drinking water.[37][38] The boiled rootstocks have been used as a diuretic for increasing urination, or mashed to make a jelly-like paste for sores, boils, wounds, burns, scabs, and smallpox pustules.
Cattail pollen is used as a banker source of food for predatory insects and mites (such as Amblyseius swirskii) in greenhouses. The cattail, or, as it is commonly referred to in the American Midwest, the sausage tail, has been the subject of multiple artist renditions, gaining popularity in the mid-twentieth century. The term, sausage tail, derives from the similarity that cattails have with sausages, a name given to the plant by the Midwest Polish community who had noticed a striking similarity between the plant and a common Polish dish, kiełbasa.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
View of Imogene Powers Johnson Center for Birds and Biodiversity from an unnamed boardwalk on an unnamed path from the parking lot. Sapsucker Woods, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York
From an unnamed boardwalk on an unnamed path from the parking lot. Sapsucker Woods, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York
An iced over, thawing in the March sunshine, leads to a view of Kip’s Barn that, I believe, is named for Austin Kiplinger (Cornell Graduate of 1939) the longest serving trustee in Cornell history.
I wanted a shot of manifold vertical lines. I think the landscape orientation develops the texture of snow stippling. The elevated wooden walkway traverses wetland, these young trees established on slightly higher ground.
Portrait orientation emphasizes these young trees reach for the sun, rising from former farmland, off West Trail
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 