Watching the ox-eye daisies slowly open, like the sun glimpsed after days of clouds—so predictable and yet such a thrill.
Plummer’s Hollow
Wednesday June 12, 2019
My wife observes that it’s a morning for wrens and not for sparrows. A new pile of dogshit has acquired an entourage of green bottle flies.
Wednesday June 05, 2019
Windy. A blackbird sings atop the neighbors’ aerial—his sharp outline against the sky. I watch a dandelion seed head for signs of flight.
Sunday May 26, 2019
From a garden across the way, the desolate barks of a dog locked outside. A breeze showers the table with firethorn blossoms.
Tuesday May 21, 2019
Breezy and cool. The yard rings with oriole song. A Cooper’s hawk skims the treetops, wings lit up by the rising sun.
Monday May 20, 2019
A hen turkey going past the house catches sight of me and freezes. Nervous clucks, then the huge bird taking flight with surprising grace.
Sunday May 19, 2019
Humid and warm—our first truly summer-like day. The wood pewee, who just returned yesterday, drawls his two-note song from the woods’ edge.
Saturday May 18, 2019
Chipmunks chatter alarm up in the woods, and a moment later the squirrels. I remember the terrified bleating I heard at 1:30 in the morning.
Friday May 17, 2019
The first, small, maple samaras are spinning down out of the gray sky. I’m startled when one seems to rise: a same-sized insect.
Thursday May 16, 2019
A scraggly-looking doe, still in her gray winter pelt, crosses the stream below the house, pausing to graze on a multiflora rose.