March 2014

A rodent face appears in the mouth of the old flicker hole in the elm snag. It watches me for a while before fading back into the darkness.

The grass darkened by rain in the wee hours. Two crows gad about like a human couple united by their harsh disapproval of the same things.

A solid gray sky marred only by the sun’s blurred searchlight. It’s cold. From all directions, the anxious-sounding calls of woodpeckers.

Thinking the phoebes should be back, I cup hands to ears: nothing. 20 minutes later, one rounds the house and flutters in front of my face.