Wednesday October 21, 2015

The yelling of a crow unable to raise a mob. Sun glints on caterpillar silk strung like abandoned bunting among bare walnut-tree branches.

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