Wednesday December 31, 2008
A fresh half-inch of snow is enough to give shape to banshees towering into the treetops, which whip back and forth, shedding dead limbs
2008
Tuesday December 30, 2008
Clear and cold at sunrise, with gusts of wind and a roaring up on the ridge. Chickadees like yard-sale shoppers darting from find to find.
Monday December 29, 2008
I love winter. I can rise late and it still feels early: clear sky, sun through the trees, the hollow rattle of a crow too angry to caw.
Sunday December 28, 2008
Rainbow at sunrise in the mist above the half-red ridge. I race up the driveway in my pyjamas, only to find the camera’s batteries are dead.
Saturday December 27, 2008
In the darkness and fog, the sound of slush being punctured and scraped aside. I can just make out the solid shadows, their many thin legs.
Friday December 26, 2008
A screech owl’s trill, the maniacal cry of a pileated—everything sounds like a portent when the sky’s such a lurid red behind the trees.
Thursday December 25, 2008
The trees rock quietly in the dawn wind, ringed by shards of yesterday’s armor. Reflections of golden clouds glide across the icy driveway.