Waiting for rain, everything sounds like an augury—catbird, chipmunk, great-crested flycatcher—and just before the first drops, that hush.
rain
May 10, 2021
The stream is quieter than I would’ve thought after so much rain. The sun comes out, and the one ant tending to a peony bud moves her antennae.
May 9, 2021
The rain arrives just about at church time, hard, steady, drowning out all other sound. Only the big mullein leaves still look dry.
May 8, 2021
A mid-morning pause in the rain. The towhee attacks a catbird gathering dead grass under the lilac, driving it off, then sings in triumph.
May 5, 2021
Agog at the intense green of a deciduous forest at leaf-out in the rain. The soundtrack: wood thrush, red-eyed vireo, least flycatcher.
May 3, 2021
Light rain. The catbird lands on a branch with nesting material in his beak, which all falls out when he goes to sing.
April 29, 2021
Two male towhees displaying at each other with what looks almost like affection. A brown thrasher’s one-bird echo chamber. The smell of rain.
April 25, 2021
After last night’s rain, the sun keeps not coming out. Up in the woods, a breeze in the top of one red oak makes a sudden shower.
April 21, 2021
Cold rain. I tap the thermometer and it drops another two degrees. The rattle of sleet gives way after a few minutes to the silence of snow.
April 16, 2021
The last to shed leaves in the fall is the first to regrow them: sprawling lilac with green tongues just long enough to catch drops of rain.
April 14, 2021
The rain eases off and the sun ventures out. I spot two mullein plants in the yard, leaves fattening into foundations for the coming stalks.
April 13, 2021
Under a slowly clearing sky, the new, red-green peony leaves are still beaded with last night’s rain. No trains running; it’s all birdsong.
April 11, 2021
The sky lightens and the rain eases off after a full night’s shift. The lilac looks twice as green as it did yesterday.
April 9, 2021
Late morning; a pause in the rain. Arboreal lichens glow blue-green under a low cloud ceiling.