Goldfinches chitter in the treetops. Below the porch, the first powdered-wig blooms of white snakeroot. A young hawk’s falsetto cry.
August 2009
August 2, 2009
Sunday morning rain is different; it’s quieter. The distant rumble I take at first for traffic on the interstate turns out to be thunder.
August 1, 2009
I watch a yellow black walnut leaf flutter to the ground. Autumn’s in the air. Fog persists most of the morning, lit up from above.