Friday February 08, 2019

Last night’s torrential rain has given way to wind, sunlight shimmering on the flooded stream and the waxy leaves of mountain laurel.

On this date

Cool and humid. An Acadian flycatcher gathers breakfast from the leaves of a walnut sapling. Sleep still tugs at my eyelids. …

Cool and clear. An enormous hairy fly lands on my arm, then my chair. I swat it and it flies off, apparently unhurt. Clouds move in. …

Seeing the big maple silhouetted against the dawn sky, I notice for the first time it's half dead. A clanking as the quarry comes to life. …

The sun climbs through the big red maple. A young Carolina wren sits on the springhouse gable, still and quiet, just swiveling its head. …

Thin fog. A spiderweb spread like a handkerchief a few inches above the ground has a large collection of raindrops, each of them perfect. …

Halfway up the hill, a yellow-billed cuckoo is calling over and over, that lyrical coo turning mechanical, relentless. Mosquito in my ear. …

Cool and clear, except for the small cloud hiding the sun. In the woods, the sound of a very localized shower—squirrel weather, no doubt. …

Cool and overcast. In the garden, a white trumpet above the bindweed's heart-shaped leaves. A millipede explores the toe of my running shoe. …

The Morning Porch