Saturday May 23, 2009

The lilacs are fading fast. Where did the spring go? A hummingbird moth pays court to the dame’s-rockets—the new avatars of purple scent.

On this date

Cool and humid. An Acadian flycatcher gathers breakfast from the leaves of a walnut sapling. Sleep still tugs at my eyelids. …

Cool and clear. An enormous hairy fly lands on my arm, then my chair. I swat it and it flies off, apparently unhurt. Clouds move in. …

Seeing the big maple silhouetted against the dawn sky, I notice for the first time it's half dead. A clanking as the quarry comes to life. …

The sun climbs through the big red maple. A young Carolina wren sits on the springhouse gable, still and quiet, just swiveling its head. …

Thin fog. A spiderweb spread like a handkerchief a few inches above the ground has a large collection of raindrops, each of them perfect. …

Halfway up the hill, a yellow-billed cuckoo is calling over and over, that lyrical coo turning mechanical, relentless. Mosquito in my ear. …

Cool and clear, except for the small cloud hiding the sun. In the woods, the sound of a very localized shower—squirrel weather, no doubt. …

Cool and overcast. In the garden, a white trumpet above the bindweed's heart-shaped leaves. A millipede explores the toe of my running shoe. …

The Morning Porch