Rose-tinged feathers puffed out against the fresh snow, the mourning doves look delicious! Their wingbeats are a marriage of fife and drum.
December 2007
Sunday December 30, 2007
Two squirrels chasing around the trunk of a tulip poplar so quickly, I swear there’s a third. Whose tail is whose? Which one is in heat?
Saturday December 29, 2007
I am blocking on common bird calls—with each sneeze I forget another name. Behind the trees, the sky is white and gold, blue and gray.
Friday December 28, 2007
The stream this morning is full of auguries, such as: “If you want to be master of all you survey, live in a ravine.” Carolina wren song.
Thursday December 27, 2007
Chickadees and nuthatches are exchanging news, each in its own language as always. I’m watching snow, but hearing the hiss of sleet.
Wednesday December 26, 2007
The birds eating seeds on the back steps of the other house all fly at once, the rush of wings like a dovetail shuffle of cards.
Tuesday December 25, 2007
Christmas—the quietest morning of the year. The stream is a full chorus. A pileated woodpecker flaps overhead, cheering itself on.