An orange tabby appears at the side of the porch, and we stare at each other with alarm. Sun spreads through the treetops like an epidemic.
April 2009
April 15, 2009
April 14, 2009
April 13, 2009
White sky, weak sun, a hollow knocking from the quarry. A winter wren holds forth below the old corrall, rambling, introspective.
April 12, 2009
A ray of sun penetrating the lilac illuminates the two daffodils at the base of its hind legs, and the dog statue stands on yellow stars.
April 11, 2009
April 10, 2009
April 9, 2009
April 8, 2009
April 7, 2009
April 6, 2009
First light. A rabbit in the yard vanishes when it stops moving. Over the rain, I can just make out the soft, fey notes of a hermit thrush.
April 5, 2009
Twelve cowbirds in the sunlit crown of a walnut tree take turns with their single, liquid syllable, the blue sky gurgling in every ditch.
April 4, 2009
Every time the wind dies, I hear the steady ticking of a chipmunk. A rift opens in the clouds just wide enough for half the sun.
April 3, 2009
A warm east wind. Curtains of rain on the almost-open buds of red maple, pussy willow, daffodils, and lilac leaves like green bishop’s hats.