Thursday March 26, 2020

So much song from a single robin perched 80 feet up in a black locust! Down below, juncos comb through the prone stiltgrass for seeds.

On this date

Clear except for two contrails, fuzzy with age. Another scrap of gray paper has fallen from the old hornets' nest, its lines blank as ever. …

The snow has shrunk to a few spots the low sun doesn't reach. In the herb bed, the only white is a pile of clippings from my last haircut. …

Flakes in the air. The weather's turned cold in time to save the last, shrunken curls of snowbanks, marooned like sea creatures on a beach. …

Late morning: the sun finally comes out. The cedar tree beside the house chirps and shakes with juncos, which soon spill out into the weeds. …

A distant gunshot. A crow. The rumble of a freight train. On a gray day without shadows, any dark thing reminds us of the sun. …

Pine siskins in the bend of the road, eating small stones for their gizzards. They rise as one and settle in the crown of a birch. …

Small birds appear as they fly past, and the sun, too, emerges only to vanish a second later, the fog turning from yellow back to white. …

Trees glistening with raindrops cast shadows through the rising fog. A sudden ripple of squirrel alarm-calls as a hawk cuts through. …

The sound of an altercation among the goldfinches—like a dozen jazz soloists playing at once. The only cloud in the sky finds the sun. …

Snowflakes sail past like far-flung voyagers. On the otherwise lifeless tansy stalks, a green sprig harbors a single, yolk-colored bloom. …

A squirrel foraging in the leaves suddenly streaks for the nearest tree, barely escaping the sharp-shinned hawk hurtling through the forest. …

Patter of rain from a leaden sky. Mouth-shaped wounds on the cherry tree where the porcupine chewed it—by far the brightest spots of color. …

The wind no longer howls, but now the merest breeze provokes a chorus of moans and shrieks. The oaks are finally almost all naked. …

The Morning Porch