The precipitation changes minute by minute: snow, sleet, drizzle. From the neighbor’s house, the peremptory snarls of a reciprocating saw.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Monthly Archives: February 2009
Just past sunrise, the powerline is...
Just past sunrise, the powerline is a tongue of light off through the woods. A heavy contrail drifts toward the sun like a deepening frown.
The trees beyond the feeder are dotted...
The trees beyond the feeder are dotted with small birds watching every movement of the sharp-shinned hawk as it picks lice from its wings.
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A quarter-inch of snow makes the woods...
A quarter-inch of snow makes the woods much whiter than it would’ve in December, before the leaf duff had been flattened by an icy iron.
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Quiet at mid-morning. The sun’...
Quiet at mid-morning. The sun’s a faint smudge. I hear a caroling from inside the house: a friend calling to tell me it’s snowing there.
Tagged chickadee
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Back to brown, except for the ribbon...
Back to brown, except for the ribbon of snow left by the plow. The hungry cat creeping across the yard freezes at every rustle of the wind.
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Rain-dark trunks gyrate in the high...
Rain-dark trunks gyrate in the high winds. Branches rattle and clash. The trees are like sleepwalkers; I watch with my heart in my throat.
Tagged gray squirrel
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Fog drifts through the woods where...
Fog drifts through the woods where rain has reduced the snow to archipelagos. Overhead the clouds, too, are breaking up. Low-flying geese.
Tagged fog
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I watch a porcupine waddling toward...
I watch a porcupine waddling toward the porch in my camcorder’s small screen, how the spines move as its fat flesh jiggles. Rain on the way.
Tagged gray squirrel, porcupine
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A cloudless sunrise. Snow lingers on...
A cloudless sunrise. Snow lingers on the west-facing hillside, hard and ugly as guilt. For the first time in months, a bluebird’s song.
