The opening day of rifle season. Deer run back and forth through the laurel—each shift of the wind must bring a different human’s stink.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Tag Archives: mountain laurel
The snow gives them away—a crunch...
The snow gives them away—a crunch of footsteps, the unambiguous shapes: five turkeys 150 feet away, going single-file through the laurel.
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The urgent grunts of a buck in rut...
The urgent grunts of a buck in rut chasing two does through the laurel, their movements easy to follow now that the trees are nearly bare.
Also tagged lilac
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Through every opening in the wall of...
Through every opening in the wall of woods, white mounds glow in the dim light: mountain laurel at its peak of bloom, the best in years.
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Hours of hard rain have brought out...
Hours of hard rain have brought out the green in tree trunks and branches, in laurel leaves, in moss. Even the fog has a slight green cast.
Also tagged fog
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Cold, clear, and still. Three dark...
Cold, clear, and still. Three dark silhouettes of deer half-running, half-dancing through the laurel with the sun-flooded powerline beyond.
Hard rain. Under a monochrome cloud...
Hard rain. Under a monochrome cloud ceiling, the colors are intense: laurel green, tree-trunk sable, dried-grass yellow, leaf-litter rust.
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