Thin fog at sunrise. A pileated woodpecker lands on the side of a tall locust tree and gets bum-rushed by a squirrel.
Cold (46F) with thin, high clouds. Black walnuts knocking on the roof. A red-tailed hawk drops in to visit the squirrels.
A high cloud ceiling full of holes. In the meadow, one snakeroot flower nods: hummingbird.
Deep blue sky with last night’s rain still glistening in the understory. In the sun-drenched canopy, four crows sit yelling at a raven.
Fog rising into the treetops. The garden chipmunk keeps me company, sitting on the end of the wall, scratching his belly.
Steady rain of the sort we’ve needed for months. Lily-of-the-valley’s drought-burnt leaves turn slick as tongues.
Harvest moon setting behind the western ridge, followed by a faint moon dog in the wash of cirrus.
Thick fog slowly infused with sunlight. A squirrel drops pieces of black walnut shell into the dew-soaked weeds.
Light rain accompanying a front. As it tapers off, the yard fills with small birds—yellow-rumped and other warblers combing the leaves for breakfast.
Half an hour before sunrise, the first migrant wood thrush arrives at the woods’ edge, calling softly. A sneeze gathers in my sinuses.
A break in the showers: it’s overcast but bright. A slug glides slowly up the porch railing with its 27,000 teeth.
Rain prolongs the early-morning light till well past 10:00. A chipmunk appears in the garden, bustling among the drenched weeds.
Overcast with a restless feeling to the air. When the rain comes it is an autumn rain, quiet, lacking the exuberance of breeding birds.
As above, so below: white sky, white snakeroot. A hummingbird buzzes in to bother the jewelweed below the porch.