The best way to summon a hummingbird, it seems, is with another hummingbird: as soon as one appears, there’s another to fight with it. A deer sneezes behind the springhouse.
July 2023
7/16/2023
Heavily overcast and still, as if it’s going to rain at any moment. The usual birds saying the usual things. The deep-summer hegemony of green.
7/15/2023
Fog lingering into mid-morning. Whatever the crows are up to, it involves a lot of begging sounds. The wild garlic heads are beginning to split.
7/14/2023
The catbird mews and warbles, a hummingbird rockets back and forth, but it’s the mosquito’s still, small voice that gets my attention.
7/13/2023
Haze before the heat. The tulip poplar sprout in its circle of deer fence is waving its newest Mickey Mouse hands.
7/12/2023
Cool enough to seem autumnal, but for the wood thrush and hooded warbler calling from the woods’ edge and the hummingbirds buzzing in the bergamot.
7/11/2023
Cool and clear, apart from some high haze; the treetops glow with sunrise. One yellow leaf spirals down.
7/10/2023
Clearing after sunrise. A Carolina wren lands briefly on my open book, between two haiku.
7/9/2023
Sun through thin clouds. A brief eddy of camphor-like fragrance, as if something has just trampled through a patch of yarrow.
7/8/2023
It’s not raining. A hummingbird inspects my bergamot patch—not quite open—and dips into a soapwort bloom before zooming off.
7/7/2023
A foggy sunrise. The catbird circles the house, mimicking the Carolina wren on double speed.
7/6/2023
A still morning. A half-grown walnut lets go of its branch while I’m looking at it, prompting an odd feeling of guilt.
7/5/2023
The bluest sky I’ve seen in weeks. A hooded warbler calls at intervals. A black walnut lands on the road with a surprisingly loud thud.
7/4/2023
Cool and humid—enough to muffle almost all valley noise. The sun goes back in. A carpenter bee sizes up the rafters.