Spiderwebs in the meadow and the big rosettes of mullein leaves next to the road glisten with their haul of beads from last night’s rain.
July 2012
Friday July 20, 2012
A deer leaps and twists in the tall grass to elude a fly, his damp pelt pale as a salmon, hoarse breathing just audible above the rain.
Thursday July 19, 2012
The sound of a hummingbird at full throttle: a male rocketing back and forth in front of the cedar tree for a hidden female audience of one.
Wednesday July 18, 2012
Distant thunder. A black ichneumon wasp walks circles on the porch floor, its wings flickering jerkily like images in a silent film.
Tuesday July 17, 2012
An enormous horsefly patrols the porch railing, gray and golden hairs shining in the sun. The faint croaks of a raven somewhere to the west.
Monday July 16, 2012
Picking bergamot leaves, I’m startled by one leaf that leaps to escape: a katydid. It watches me wild-eyed from an adjacent plant.
Sunday July 15, 2012
Ten percent of the tulip tree’s leaves have turned yellow in response to the drought. Goldfinches pass through like a yellow wind.
Saturday July 14, 2012
We’ll remember this as the summer a cerulean warbler sang incessantly in the yard, which every day—presto!—produced more rabbits.
Friday July 13, 2012
Under a flat white sky, the catbird’s brassy harangue. Will it rain today? Some meadow plants are going limp while others are turning stiff.
Thursday July 12, 2012
Another gorgeous morning spoiled by the smell of cow shit. I think of the pastoral idyll, land-grant universities turned bloated and foul.