Having slept through a dawn storm, I wake to find the power out. A towhee yells at me from a branch of the closest walnut—one song I can hear above the dull roar of the generator up at my mother’s house.
generator
Nuthatch calls to nuthatch, wren to wren, but the generator roars to nobody. I keep seeing what could be a chipmunk out of the corner of my eye.