Heavily overcast sunrise; the only faint color comes from the ground. The great-horned owl falls silent as a nuthatch begins to call.
Plummer’s Hollow
Slow snowfall in a silence punctuated only by birds. I’m tired enough that watching it feels almost like sleep.
The moon is still bright but the sky has begun to turn blue. Up on the ridge, something barks twice, then falls silent.
Cold and very clear. My shady yard is a refuge for last night’s frost. A feral cat emerges from under the house and gives me a baleful look.
A late-morning brightness in the clouds. A white-breasted nuthatch descending a tall black locust turns right-side-up.
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.
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.