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June 18, 2025
Rain and fog. I’m beginning to feel sorry for the 17-year cicadas whose one summer in the sun has so far been so sodden. I watch one go motoring past, wings mirroring the white sky.
June 18, 2024
Everything still drips from last night’s storm. I abandon the porch for a quick hike before the heat.
June 18, 2023
The light is still murky and cool at mid-morning as lulls in the avian chorus lengthen. The breeze riffling through walnut leaves. A cowbird’s liquid note.
June 18, 2022
Windy and cool. The pale undersides of leaves turning in unison like shoals of fish. A robin and a tanager trading off.
June 18, 2021
High, hazy clouds dilute the sunlight. A chipping sparrow lands sideways on a tall dame’s-rocket stalk, singing as it bows under his weight.