lichens

Friday April 09, 2021

Dave Bonta April 9, 2021

Late morning; a pause in the rain. Arboreal lichens glow blue-green under a low cloud ceiling.

An earth-shaking blast from the quarry, preceded by a muffled boom as if by its own echo. I catch a glimpse of a hummingbird's long tongue. …

Cold rain; the treetops disappearing into cloud. A Carolina wren lands on the railing with a beak full of leaves and a self-important air. …

The worm-eating warbler has taken his rattle deep into the forest. The chipping sparrow's is louder than ever, echoing off the woods' edge. …

It's cold. Leaves blow backwards in the wind. But squirrels must be coming back into heat: four of them spiral down a locust at top speed. …

Cool and humid. Two male indigo buntings meet in the lilac bush and click at each other like angry blue Geiger counters. …

A chickadee lands on the cherry snag and chitters till his mate emerges from the hole. He gives her a bit of food and they fly off together. …

The first purple irises are opening along the rock wall, their three petals descending like the landing gear on spaceships. …

From the moment I come out, the world conspires to wake me up: yesterday, the tulip tree dropped a branch; today, a Cooper's hawk swoops in. …

Two male indigo buntings, twice as blue as the sky, clash in the air and land on adjacent branches. One sings, the other flies off. …

Cold and clearing. The black cat pads up the driveway, coyote bait still in her belly and the usual hungry, hateful look in her yellow eyes. …