Humidity thick as wool. Above the buzz of hummingbird dogfights, a distant roar of military jets, hopefully just on training runs.
jet
Wednesday June 10, 2020
Humidity thick as wool. Above the buzz of hummingbird dogfights, a distant roar of military jets, hopefully just on training runs.
Monday April 06, 2020
Two faded contrails in an otherwise clear sky. A cardinal sings his spring song, which bears a very strong resemblance to his winter song.
Tuesday March 17, 2020
In the fog and mizzle, swelling yellow-green lilac buds are the brightest thing. A single jet goes over in all the time I sit outside.
Sunday March 15, 2020
Bright sun. The damp ground glistens like a salamander. A jet goes over—the first I’ve heard in a while.
Friday February 21, 2020
A jet drags a vestigial contrail through the treetops, its roar far behind in the great blue bell which, by cliché, this clarity resembles.
Sunday January 12, 2020
A yellow gash appears in the clouds to the east and heals up again. The cardinal attacks his reflection. Military jets howl over, unseen.
Thursday December 26, 2019
A white-breasted nuthatch is barely audible over the whine of tires from the interstate. Two jet contrails form an X just above the sun.
Monday October 28, 2019
Clear and cold. A contrail feathers in several directions. The dog makes a half-hearted run at a wood pigeon, who takes a half-hearted hop.
Friday September 20, 2019
The usual parade of jets overhead. On the brown lawn, my partner is painting her climate strike sign green and blue.