A mottled white sky with crows to the north and ravens croaking off to the south. The snowpack is soft and granular, absorbing sound.
Under a gray lid of cloud, the sound of steady dripping as roofs shed their snow. A cat lying in ambush has its cover blown by chickadees.
Sunrise stains the western ridge barn-red as the dawn chorus of crows rises to a cacophony. High in a walnut tree, a squirrel is licking its genitals.
Thin clouds at sunrise with the blue just visible, like faded jeans. A crow has a brief exchange with his echo.
Heavily overcast at sunrise, which I’m taking on faith. The sound of a Carolina wren hopping across the porch roof.
Cold and still. The mid-morning sun is a faint smudge in the treetops. A flicker flutters into a barberry bush and begins to gorge.
A fresh skin of snow on top of the crust and the deepest day-time silence of the year. I listen to the quiet tapping of a downy woodpecker halfway up the ridge.
-2F/-20C. Even under two hats and a beard, the windward side of my face turns numb. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas: bleak and frost-haunted.
Back after a 10-day absence, I watch a front move in: blowing curtains of white. It’s as if winter had been waiting for me. Juncos twitter and hop.
Heavily overcast sunrise; the only faint color comes from the ground. The great-horned owl falls silent as a nuthatch begins to call.
Slow snowfall in a silence punctuated only by birds. I’m tired enough that watching it feels almost like sleep.
The moon is still bright but the sky has begun to turn blue. Up on the ridge, something barks twice, then falls silent.
Cold and very clear. My shady yard is a refuge for last night’s frost. A feral cat emerges from under the house and gives me a baleful look.
A late-morning brightness in the clouds. A white-breasted nuthatch descending a tall black locust turns right-side-up.