I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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Dead Horse Bay?
So what, you ask, is the story on Dead Horse Bay?
It's a great birdwatching spot, is what. The intrepid Keith Michael, writer, choreographer, and birder, led an expeditionary force there yesterday, consisting of Urban Naturalist, an artist, a textile conservator, a young oboeist from Juilliard, and me. We took the subway to the end of the line and then the bus to practically the end of the line. A hike over the bridge, a walk along the shoreline, a little bushwhacking -- it was high tide, so we were forced onto the dunes and into the overgrowth, or was it the undergrowth, at one point -- and there we were. We ate our sandwiches on a beached railroad tie and watched a helluva lotta birds. Besides the 2,500 scaup -- and Keith says there were 10,000 there two weeks ago, gathering for the flight back north -- we saw Brant geese by the hundreds (also getting ready to head to the Arctic), shovelers, mergansers, oystercatchers, grebes, swans, Canada geese, a little brown shorebird I don't know and forgot the name of (Keith, can you help?), herring gulls and black-back gulls, cormorants, buffleheads, mallards, crows, and robins. And on the way home, a kestrel. It was bright and windy, then cloudy, cool and crisp, a perfect expedition day.
vast flock of scaup
snoozing oystercatcher
flag thorugh reeds
whitewall tire in the sand
beach glass
tile and bottle
It's a great birdwatching spot, is what. The intrepid Keith Michael, writer, choreographer, and birder, led an expeditionary force there yesterday, consisting of Urban Naturalist, an artist, a textile conservator, a young oboeist from Juilliard, and me. We took the subway to the end of the line and then the bus to practically the end of the line. A hike over the bridge, a walk along the shoreline, a little bushwhacking -- it was high tide, so we were forced onto the dunes and into the overgrowth, or was it the undergrowth, at one point -- and there we were. We ate our sandwiches on a beached railroad tie and watched a helluva lotta birds. Besides the 2,500 scaup -- and Keith says there were 10,000 there two weeks ago, gathering for the flight back north -- we saw Brant geese by the hundreds (also getting ready to head to the Arctic), shovelers, mergansers, oystercatchers, grebes, swans, Canada geese, a little brown shorebird I don't know and forgot the name of (Keith, can you help?), herring gulls and black-back gulls, cormorants, buffleheads, mallards, crows, and robins. And on the way home, a kestrel. It was bright and windy, then cloudy, cool and crisp, a perfect expedition day.
vast flock of scaup
snoozing oystercatcher
flag thorugh reeds
whitewall tire in the sand
beach glass
tile and bottle
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