Cold and clear. A squirrel climbs to the top of a red maple, bites off a seed-laden twig and carries it to a lower limb—a feast of wings. * The […]

‪A hairy woodpecker loudly inspects the woods’ edge. In the clear, cold air, the half-grown leaves are aglow—almost too green to believe.‬

‪The first dame’s-rocket are coming out: dabs of purple among the banks of winter cress and garlic mustard. Basically, it’s rocket season.‬

‪Cold and overcast, and the stream still in spate. Some bird wheezes in the treetops like a small bellows or a cheerleader for the wind.‬

‪When the rain finally slackens off, I can hear a vireo, goldfinches, the catbird, a train horn, and the throaty roar of a well-fed creek.‬

The hollow tock-tocking of chipmunks. A milkweed seed floats past: quite a trick, I think, to turn a white beard into a balloon.

‪Back to sweater weather. The catbird in the French lilac has found a mate—they’re hopping around apparently evaluating nesting material.‬