Monthly Archives: March 2009

A new squeal from the locust trees. The wind is an eraser that works badly, and tears a hole in the woods if pressed too hard.

A harsh cooing from the pine tree closest to the porch, like a hawk crossed with a dove. Two crows fly in, scold for a minute, and fly off.

Over the clang of church bells, the ethereal cries of wild swans: a huge high V off to the north. Sorry, folks. G-d has left the building.

Cold and clear. Looking west, I spot a bright white dot on the far side of the field: the breast of a red-tailed hawk shining in the sun.

In the dim light of a misty morning, rain-slick surfaces glow: green lichens, purple raspberry canes, the yellow blades of foxtail millet.

Two crows locate a small gray hawk in a maze of gray branches. But their angry calls soon taper off, and they sit silently under a gray sky.

A rapid whistling of wings: a woodcock hurtles through the yard at eye-level. Thank you, Congress, for giving back our slow, dark mornings.

A long dark streak on the red maple beside the road: sap is rising. A crow at the top of the tallest pine hunkers down to deliver every caw.