Tuesday January 14, 2014

Dave Bonta January 14, 2014

At the woods’ edge, a jumble of bone-white sticks: spicebush branches debarked by rabbits. A gray blur where a titmouse grooms in the lilac.

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It's in the blackbird's alarm call that one best hears its cousin-ship with the American robin: that tut tut. Which is also so British. …

Few bird calls are audible above the hush of rain falling on new leaves. White lilac and bridal wreath flower heads droop, turning brown. …

Momentary things: A chipmunk pressing the rain from its fur. The swaying of a branch from which a grackle has just taken flight. …

The chickadees take turns carrying insects into their hole, bold, ignoring my presence a few feet away. From the hidden chicks, nary a peep. …

A pileated woodpecker lands on the dead elm right beside the flicker den hole and knocks twice. A flicker pokes her head out. He flies off. …

A breeze stirs the tulip tree from top to bottom, its four-fingered mitts rocking, cautious as the queen of England's white-gloved wave. …

The clouds finally thin out at mid-morning. An orange skipper passes over the thin-bladed grass to settle on the sunny half of a dock leaf. …

A female indigo bunting drops into the cherry tree to snack on tiny tent caterpillars, reaching daintily into their vase-shaped nest. …

Sun! I hear the crow that thinks it's a duck, a catbird's simultaneous translation of a wood thrush song. Last night, I dreamed of bluejays. …

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