Cold, gray, and windy, with a new half-inch of snow. The only flicker of warmth is a chickadee’s call—the pilot light in a stone-cold oven.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Monthly Archives: November 2008
Clear sky, and the meadow white with...
Clear sky, and the meadow white with frost: an almost-winter morning. Juncos forage at the edge of the woods, wings flashing in the sun.
Tagged juncos
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A three-point buck emerges from the...
A three-point buck emerges from the woods, hooves crunching through the icy seep, the sky pink behind him and ahead, the blood-red hill.
Tagged gray squirrel
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Fresh snow, but not enough to turn...
Fresh snow, but not enough to turn the hillside white. Like an old man with bushy brows, the earth peeks out from under every arched leaf.
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Under the cover of high winds, the...
Under the cover of high winds, the feral cat goes hunting without setting off the usual alarms. Airborne oak leaves ascend into the clouds.
Tagged cats
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I sit in the dark listening to the...
I sit in the dark listening to the downpour, trying to pick out all the different instruments: roof, road, weeds, trees, leaf litter, creek.
Tagged stream
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Thick fog prolongs the dawn light for...
Thick fog prolongs the dawn light for hours. A screech owl is answered by a pileated woodpecker, dirge giving way to second-line ululation.
Tagged fog, pileated woodpecker, screech owl
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Through a curtain of cold rain, the...
Through a curtain of cold rain, the lilac’s thinning collection of stamps from the countries of summer, green-gold against the gray woods.
Tagged lilac
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Two white-tailed deer leap through...
Two white-tailed deer leap through the dried goldenrod and asters beyond the springhouse, surfacing, diving—dolphins in a brown sea.
Tagged aster, deer, goldenrod, raven, springhouse
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At first light, a siren goes off and...
At first light, a siren goes off and doesn’t stop, a high steady note as if from a Tibetan prayer bowl. Please God, I mutter, make it stop.
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