Saturday March 28, 2015

A dusting of snow. Three song sparrows are trying to out-sing each other, and the tall black locust at the woods’ edge creaks with ice.

On this date

Rain and fog. With the goldenrod going gray, the yellow has moved from the meadow to the woods' edge: spicebush, walnut, birch, elm, tulip tree. …

A warm-for-autumn morning. An east wind drives great flocks of yellow leaves out of the woods. One of last night's katydids starts up again. …

Sun a diffuse blob like a culture in a petri dish. Hoarse cries of a raven. Black walnuts are falling in groups now: a thunder of punches. …

A jay walks the metal ridge of the springhouse roof, where a tangled mass of Virginia creeper has stretched red tentacles over the shingles. …

Falling birch leaves whirl and tumble through shafts of sunlight. The sine wave of a squirrel crossing the road's ancient macadam. …

Cloudy and cold. A caterpillar climbs my leg, its brown form so extravagantly furred it resembles a miniature, misplaced fashion accessory. …

The silhouettes of small birds (goldfinches?) darting through the crown of a black birch as wind and driving rain strip it of leaves. …

A black-throated blue warbler alights in the dead cherry. I follow it to the spicebush, where yellow-throated vireos sing bright red notes. …

33°F at dawn. The quarry is loud in the east, and it's hard to shake the impression that I'm listening to the dull machinery of the sun. …

The Morning Porch