Robin song echoes through the fog. My neighbor drives past on the tractor. In the wake of its rumble, a towhee’s eponymous call.
American robin
Sunday April 15, 2018
Under the sort of sky poets call sullen, a robin’s relentless bowl of cheer. Leave it to the white-throated sparrow to add a wistful note.
Sunday March 25, 2018
Cold as a well under a deep blue sky torn by the distant roar of military jets. The morning singers carry on: cardinal, song sparrow, robin.
Monday March 19, 2018
Blue sky with quarry noise and a singing robin. The sun stretches one finger of light down through all the trees on the hillside.
Wednesday February 01, 2017
A patch of dirt laid bare by the snow plow is aswirl with birds of all kinds. Even a robin appears, as if to assess the likelihood of worms.
Tuesday March 22, 2016
Before sunrise, I’m fascinated by the yard’s labyrinth of dead grass, that tangled thatch. A robin warbles for a while and falls silent.
Wednesday November 19, 2014
Bitter cold; even the sun looks brittle. I savor the silence, broken only by goldfinch warble and the scattered calls of robins.
Thursday March 20, 2014
Dark clouds, and a sombre brightness underneath. A few, wet flakes of snow swirl past. Robin song.
Sunday March 31, 2013
Where yesterday the hillside was mostly white, now it’s mostly brown, and the dawn chorus is twice as loud with the addition of one robin.
Thursday March 28, 2013
In the mud bowl of the old robin’s nest that the wind blew out of the cedar tree, a fresh dusting of snow. The cardinal’s monotonous chant.