The flat white sky prompts me to notice that the white snakeroot—a plant that clouds up the meadow, being toxic to deer—has gone to seed.
clouds
Wednesday September 05, 2018
The clouds start to thin by late morning. Under the patio table, where a snail wandered all night, silvery lacework begins to shine.
Saturday July 28, 2018
Windy and cooler, with fat, fast-moving clouds. A fox appears on the back wall and gazes with seeming wistfulness at our breakfast.
Friday May 25, 2018
A dampness on the ground and in the air. The sky is, as always, unreadable to me with my lifetime of experience reading continental skies.
Off on my honeymoon to Eigg. Back on June 4.
Thursday April 26, 2018
A blue wound opens in the clouds and heals over again. In the garden, pink claws that may become peonies if a late frost doesn’t kill them.
Wednesday April 18, 2018
Egg-white sky with one sun over medium. It’s cold. I’m reading a line about roosters crowing just as the neighbor’s rooster begins to crow.
Tuesday March 20, 2018
An ashen sky, gravid with snow. The field sparrow’s back: that song that sounds like rising excitement (or alarm, depending on one’s mood).
Saturday March 17, 2018
Faint traces of high cloud give a seaside sort of light. I dreamed the wood frogs were calling, but it’s still too cold.
Tuesday March 06, 2018
A raven croaks and I see the sun moving backwards—just a sun-sized pit in the clouds glowing as it passes the location of the actual sun.
Saturday February 24, 2018
It has stopped raining. The squirrel with pale fur forages at the edge of a small, marooned cloud. The sky brightens and releases more rain.