Sunny and cold. My mother starts up the trail into the woods with her pant-legs tucked into her socks against the plague of deer ticks.
March 2009
3/30/2009
3/29/2009
3/28/2009
Dark morning. The fox squirrel’s tail flickers orange from the back of the big red maple whose buds have swollen into dime-sized stoplights.
3/27/2009
3/26/2009
3/25/2009
A harsh cooing from the pine tree closest to the porch, like a hawk crossed with a dove. Two crows fly in, scold for a minute, and fly off.
3/24/2009
3/23/2009
3/22/2009
3/21/2009
3/20/2009
3/19/2009
3/18/2009
Bluebird, white-throated sparrow, a starling’s liquid note, and high overhead, a killdeer: the sky must be blue above the fog.