For the second dawn in a row, it’s 47°F. I watch two midges hover above the railing. A long blast of the paper-plant whistle: morning shift.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Monthly Archives: August 2008
In the wild black cherry limb that...
In the wild black cherry limb that hangs over the entrance to the trail up the ridge, red clumps of stems, a squirrel getting its breakfast.
Tagged black cherry, gray squirrel
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I’m beginning to distinguish...
I’m beginning to distinguish individual locomotives by their whistles. The majority merely say “look out,” but a few almost manage “I am.”
Tagged train
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Sun in the treetops. A doe and her...
Sun in the treetops. A doe and her fawn are consuming the future of the forest, one oak or tulip poplar seedling at a time. The doe burps.
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The far side of the driveway is dusted...
The far side of the driveway is dusted in white—snakeroot coming into bloom. The poison that killed Lincoln’s mother, distilled in milk.
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A still morning. Dew drips from the...
A still morning. Dew drips from the top roof onto the porch roof. Each birdcall—woodpecker, towhee, jay—is surrounded by acres of silence.
Tagged towhee
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Sunrise comes with a soundtrack of...
Sunrise comes with a soundtrack of grinding and beeping from the quarry to our east. Right below the railing, goldenrod bobs: a winter wren.
The lowest limb of the tulip poplar...
The lowest limb of the tulip poplar trembles as a four-point buck briefly fences with the leaves. The minor-key wail of a distant train.
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The woods’ edge is at the base...
The woods’ edge is at the base of a hill; all I see of the doe foraging under the trees are delicate legs and the spinning flag of her tail.
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A hummingbird checks me out before...
A hummingbird checks me out before visiting the bergamot, and again afterwards. Then she zips down to the stream for the briefest of drinks.
Tagged bergamot, hummingbird, stream
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