The first yellow leaves on the walnuts: it’s late summer already. The fog hides trees and reveals old spiderwebs like messages in invisible ink.
Rain and fog. A wood thrush sings three times and falls silent. A mourning dove goes on and on.
Cool beginning to another scorcher. A fly goes for a walk down a porch column. The thud of a walnut on the road.
Cool and crystal clear. The buzz of battling hummingbirds below the porch where jewelweed has eluded the deer.
Cloudy and cool. A male hummingbird pauses over the faded bergamot patch, then buzzes off.
Overcast at sunrise. A meadowhawk dragonfly zips back and forth, inches above the rain-soaked vegetation.
Lightly overcast and cool. A molting warbler skulks in the old lilac, foraging for breakfast on the undersides of leaves.
Cool and crystal-clear. A wood thrush sings as if it’s still nesting season. The western ridge turns red.
Bleary sun. Tree leaves are all astir, but not by much. Those birds who still sing make it sound perfunctory.
Cool, overcast, and humid. A breeze brings the smell of ozone and a hush of rain finishing its journey down from the trees.
Sun rising into clouds. The mob of wild garlic heads in the meadow are beginning to shed their white hoods.
It’s actually cold—54F/12C! A crow at the top of the tallest locust where the sun strikes has one thing to say and she is saying it.
The sky never gets fully light before thunder starts to rumble. Now it’s getting dark again. The birds fall silent.
Hazy but not yet hot. Hummingbirds circle the soapwort patch, as if following the red threads of bindweed.