The rain arrives just about at church time, hard, steady, drowning out all other sound. Only the big mullein leaves still look dry.
2021
May 8, 2021
A mid-morning pause in the rain. The towhee attacks a catbird gathering dead grass under the lilac, driving it off, then sings in triumph.
May 7, 2021
Cold and overcast. Through a gap in the leaves I spot an azalea half-way up the hill, its pink deepening as the sun peeks out.
May 6, 2021
Goldfinches, scarlet tanager, great-crested flycatcher, catbird, towhee… no composer, no conductor. All music needs is a listener.
May 5, 2021
Agog at the intense green of a deciduous forest at leaf-out in the rain. The soundtrack: wood thrush, red-eyed vireo, least flycatcher.
May 4, 2021
Sun! A female hummingbird alights on a twig and a male begins rocketing back and forth in front of her. A cuckoo calls from the powerline.
May 3, 2021
Light rain. The catbird lands on a branch with nesting material in his beak, which all falls out when he goes to sing.
May 2, 2021
Like green tassels on Victorian lampshades the birch catkins fluttering in the breeze. It’s warm—a perfect day for tree sex.
May 1, 2021
Crystal clear. A blue-headed vireo ventures into the yard and the catbird immediately interrupts, taking his song and turning it inside-out.
April 30, 2021
Trees bend and sway in the wind: how seldom they collide, how little noise they make! A black-and-white warbler wheezes like a pump handle.
April 29, 2021
Two male towhees displaying at each other with what looks almost like affection. A brown thrasher’s one-bird echo chamber. The smell of rain.
April 28, 2021
Hazy sun. The first catbird pops out of a barberry bush, improvising wildly. An ant traverses my collar.
April 27, 2021
Overshadowed by the sprawling French lilac like an opening act, the old bridal wreath bush keeps sending out white sprays.
April 26, 2021
The brassy singers of open spaces take it in turns: robin, cardinal, towhee. But I am ready for shade and the whispery songs of warblers.