Wet, but at least it’s not raining. Wood thrush, vireo and tanager songs mingle at the woods’ edge. The wingbeats of a catbird.
Overcast and cool. A titmouse appears to have developed a taste for caterpillars, circling the trunk of a walnut like a nuthatch.
Downpour. An ant abandons its dead caterpillar. An earthworm dangles from a cardinal’s bill.
Overcast and cool. In the garden, the bindweed has yet to flower, but its leaves are busy gathering holes.
A late-morning pause in the rain. The sun comes out, and I notice that the first evening primroses have opened—that flat, obvious yellow.
Gray sky gravid with bad weather. On either side of the road, the tall grass trembles: foraging chipmunks.
A gypsy moth caterpillar lowers itself on a silk thread almost to the ground, then reverses course and begins inching and thrashing back up.
Venus in the dawn sky. Phoebe, field sparrow, wood pewee. The alarm-snorts of a deer.
Rain just past, tree leaves glisten in the sun. A brown thrasher holds forth like a street-corner prophet, hallelujah, hallelujah.
First light. Near where the stream gurgles under the road, a song sparrow sings a dream version of his usual song.