Thin fog/low clouds. It feels as if rain could start at any moment but does not. A Carolina wren nearly drowns out the sound of traffic.
Year: 2022
In the cold drizzle, a squirrel looks less gray than silver, shining dully as she crouches under the fur umbrella of her tail.
Cold and still. Dove wings accompany a train whistle. A red sunrise creeps down the western ridge.
Still haunted by dreams I can’t remember when the sun clears the ridge and sets the clouds of my breath aglow.
Cold rain. Four chickadees in a high-speed chase around the yard pause in the lilac for a vociferous exchange of views.
The frosted meadow glitters in the sun. A scrabbling of squirrel claws on bark. Off to the south, a raven croaks; to the north, crows.
Treetops rock and sway in the wind—a restive mountainside. A few snowflakes fly this way and that.
Rain-slick trees green with lichen dance in a puddle’s punctuated sky.
Heavily overcast at sunrise; only the ground glows a faint pink, thick with rain-slick leaves. A screech owl trills.
Mostly overcast and quiet, apart from the wind. A squirrel with an acorn in her mouth pauses for a split second at the end of a branch, then leaps.
Overcast; the smell of rain. Cattail leaves rattle faintly. A few tiny patches of snow linger in the tall grass.
A close shot echoes off the ridge—it’s the opening day of regular firearms deer season. The sun moves slowly through the trees, dimming, blazing.
Warm rain. The snow has shrunk to a few scrofulous patches in the woods. Half an hour before sunrise, a bluebird is singing.
The sun finally clears the ridgetop at 8:00. A crow at the compost has an exchange with a raven high overhead: caw caw caw ARK ARK ARK etc.