Thursday February 26, 2009

Dave Bonta February 26, 2009

I keep hearing fragments of song—winter wren, bluebird, song sparrow—and the usual tight flock of siskins in a walnut tree going zzzzzzip.

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A field sparrow fresh from bathing and a hummingbird fresh from fighting sit two feet apart on a walnut branch, shaking their feathers. …

Chipmunks chatter alarm up in the woods, and a moment later the squirrels. I remember the terrified bleating I heard at 1:30 in the morning. …

A rabbit in the rain eats grass the way I eat ramen, one long strip disappearing into its mouth, drops flying. A hummingbird buzzes my face. …

It's wild mustard season, the yard dotted with purple dame's-rocket, white garlic mustard, and among the cattails a riot of yellow rocket. …

The new black cherry leaves, unmarred by any insect, are showing their pale backs to the sky, like hatchling fish unsure of how to swim. …

The groundhog emerges from her sun-flooded burrow beside the porch and whistles in alarm. The shadow of a tiger swallowtail crosses my legs. …

A light drizzle. The one green leaf at the end of a branch on the otherwise dead cherry shakes itself dry and turns back into a hummingbird. …

Hard rain forces the phoebes to dive into the weeds in search of prey, returning drenched to their dry and querulous brood under the eaves. …

Half a degree above freezing at sunrise, and the sky is as clear as it gets. A towhee sings a backwards version of its song. …

A black-and-white warbler's two-syllable whisper; drumroll from a Good God bird. The clock is blinking—what time is it? The patter of rain. …

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