Another perfect morning. A wood thrush is singing next to the springhouse. The surrealism of it all when distilled into memory come December.
June 2022
6/29/2022
Cold and clear. Three waxwings join the sun high in the dead crown of a black locust, yellow bellies aglow.
6/27/2022
Everything drips. A wood thrush chases a rival out of the woods and pauses in a spicebush for a look around.
6/26/2022
The sun behind a nearly motionless cloud casts a pair of crepuscular rays like vast, dark wings. A hen turkey stalks into the woods.
6/24/2022
Overcast and cool. Two deer run into the woods as another snorts alarm up in the field. Another hummingbird buzzes me, ruby gorget ablaze.
6/23/2022
Fog and mizzle. The usual doe and fawn graze in the springhouse meadow, their ears swivelling above the sodden vegetation.
6/22/2022
Warm and humid. A hummingbird interrupts my writing, hovering in front of my face, then zipping up to where a feeder once hung.
6/21/2022
One gray squirrel shadows another, nose to tail, down the gray driveway. Mid-morning thunder. A patter of rain.
6/20/2022
A deer grazes a few feet away; I can hear blades of grass tearing. The sun almost breaks through a thin spot in the clouds.
6/19/2022
A catbird looks for worms in the herb garden. The first bindweed trumpets blare their silent music into a cloudless sky.
6/18/2022
Windy and cool. The pale undersides of leaves turning in unison like shoals of fish. A robin and a tanager trading off.
6/17/2022
Wind has blown all the humidity out to sea. The forest is astir with its comings and goings, until I can barely remain seated.
6/16/2022
Hazy and humid. The sun in the crown of the big dead maple. A hen turkey putting like a slow motor, summoning her chicks.
6/15/2022
The sun clears the trees sooner than seems possible, and the gnatcatcher’s extreme excitement is not a good sign. A sapsucker calls.