Thickening contrails stripe the sky. Two ravens fly side-by-side over the house, trading hoarse commentary. The blur of hoarfrost.
contrails
1/3/2011
The return of the cold has saved the last, handkerchief-sized patches of snow. In the east, a silent jet trails the smallest of wakes.
12/29/2010
Feathery contrails outline a wedge of blue. On a high branch, three mourning doves sit facing the sunrise. The middle one preens its wings.
11/13/2010
By midmorning, all the white crosses left by jets have disappeared into another cloudless sky. A soft bang as a junco side-swipes a window.
10/11/2010
Almost Cartesian, this grid of clouds: contrails at varying stages of decay. From up in the woods, wingbeats of some large bird.
12/8/2009
To the northeast, seven parallel contrails spread and merge. An eighth appears through the treetops across the yard, and I have to sneeze.
12/18/2007
Blue sky carved up by the ley lines of industrial man. Who else leaves such arrow-strait trails for mile after mile? Only Coyote.