A robin refurbishing an old nest lands each time on the lowest branch and labors up the ladder of limbs with his beakful of dead grass.
June 2009
June 15, 2009
June 14, 2009
In the half-light, the soft crunch of gravel: a bear-shaped shadow ambles up the road, turns onto my walk, stops in front of my door. Waits.
June 13, 2009
June 12, 2009
June 11, 2009
June 10, 2009
June 9, 2009
June 8, 2009
June 7, 2009
The cerulean warbler sounds rushed as always. A chipmunk watches me for ten minutes, stationed like a sentry on the rock next to the porch.
June 6, 2009
June 5, 2009
June 4, 2009
The black cat crouches at the edge of the meadow full of dame’s-rocket. What hides, squirmed into grassy burrows, under all that purple?