Monday April 18, 2022

White sky slowly disappearing the sun like a pregnant rabbit reabsorbing her litter. Cedar waxwings come whistling down to the stream to drink.

On this date

Sunrise hidden by fog, which only turns a lighter shade of gray. Rain falling from the leaves. Leaves falling from the rain. …

Low cloud ceiling. Three flocks of resident Canada geese go over the house, one after another, in formations as disorderly as their cries. …

Overcast and cool. I trace the passage of what must be a hawk through the woods by the fast-moving ripple of squirrel alarms. …

A squadron of tulip poplar keys spinning down into the stiltgrass. From over the ridge, a locomotive's hoarse chord. …

Another overcast morning. I can see yellow leaves falling way off in the woods like unschooled fish spiralling into the depths. …

Sunshine for the first time in days. Filmy-winged insects drift in and out of the shadows where a blue-headed vireo sings its dreamy song. …

Overcast at dawn. The light seems to come not from the sky but from the slowly brightening orange and yellow leaves. Chirps of waking birds. …

Walnut leaves are scattered all over the porch. What was the wind up to while I slept? In the woods, a migrant thrush expresses mild alarm. …

Sunrise, and the sky is clear. From behind the red ridge, two train whistles blow at the same time in different keys. A car door slams. …

A crow mob: enmity in unison sounding so different from a flock of grackles, where each bird is simply saying "here." It begins to rain. …

Through the darkness and fog, loud thuds from the black walnut trees that encircle the houses, a slow carpet bombing that goes on for weeks. …

The Morning Porch