Tuesday May 11, 2010

Gray squirrel in a walnut tree gnawing on a walnut, fox squirrel in a maple feasting on maple keys: one spits out shells, the other, wings.

On this date

Mist in the meadow and among the trees where the first sunbeams look almost solid. Crows, wren, catbird, common yellowthroat. …

A catbird darts into the weeds. I stand up to look: it's gobbling down the first ripe raspberries. The buzz of a hummingbird at the beebalm. …

The sudden buzz of a hummingbird rocketing back and forth in a mad parabola of attraction, the female watching from a dead lilac limb. …

A light clatter like a touch typist passes under my chair: the resident chipmunk. A green darner zips in, skimming low over the porch floor. …

Fire sirens in the valley. On a beebalm stem, right under the scarlet inflorescence, a beard of spittlebug froth catches the sun. …

A phoebe pecks at the porch roof, then lands in the cherry tree with its feathers puffed out against the cold. The waning moon. …

Just inside the woods' edge, three mushrooms weather the downpour, umbrellas for no one. The soaked bark of a maple turns patchy blue. …

I realize suddenly that my yard is devoid of bull thistles this year. Could the goldfinches really have consumed every one of the seeds? …

The Morning Porch