Shrill chirps of a truck going in reverse. Under a lowering sky, daylight seeps from the jagged blaze of forsythia at the edge of the woods.
2008
April 20, 2008
Now that I know there are bears about, every snapping twig gets my attention. The cherry tree’s pink with swollen buds. A rumble of thunder.
April 19, 2008
Over the dawn fusillade of woodpeckers, I hear the distant gobbles of a turkey. Five deer graze below the house. The doves make moan.
April 18, 2008
Still cloudless, but the light lacks the crystal-clarity of previous mornings. Juncos all a-twitter, perhaps feeling the pull of the north.
April 17, 2008
Fresh from their beds, two deer come out of the woods and stand blinking at the new green grass. One scratches her belly with a hind foot.
April 16, 2008
Cool morning of a day forecast to be warm. The sun turns daffodils, red maple blossoms, and the silver fur of the willow into stained glass.
April 15, 2008
Clear and quiet. Off in the woods, the jagged pine snag gleams yellowish-white, as if in imitation of the lightning bolt that killed it.
April 14, 2008
Clear, and four degrees below freezing. I watch the sunlight descend a tall tulip poplar and try to block out the sound of morning traffic.
April 13, 2008
Jurassic silhouettes of wild turkeys against the brown and green field. A cold rain. Maple blossoms glow orange and scarlet in the woods.
April 12, 2008
A towhee seems stuck in rehearsal: Drink! Drink your… Drink! Everything shines. A white-throated sparrow turns its song upside-down.
April 11, 2008
The old dog statue in my front yard is now in its glory: a ring of yellow trumpets, silent save for the occasional muffled buzz.
April 10, 2008
Clear at sunrise, bright orange spreading across the field. One of the daffodil buds in my yard looks ready to open: a broad yellow seam.
April 9, 2008
Another gray morning. From behind the house, a field sparrow’s ascending note, like a translation of ruffed grouse drumming into song.
April 8, 2008
Despite appearances to the contrary—the sky still gray, rain still withheld—spring has come for the titmouse and his one, querulous note.