July 2, 2022 by Dave Bonta A few drips of rain. The squeaky begging of a fledgling at the woods’ edge. It breaks cover to hazard flying—a flurry of wingbeats. Share on social media Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky Click to share on Mastodon (Opens in new window) Mastodon Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
July 1, 2022 by Dave Bonta I watch a new squirrel figure out the tree-to-tree route out of the woods, backtracking, sizing things up. The sun goes in. Share on social media Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky Click to share on Mastodon (Opens in new window) Mastodon Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads