Misty rain. After drinking from the feeder, a hummingbird sips water from the ant guard as if to cleanse her palate.
rain
May 22, 2020
Sky darkening to rain. I realize that the bare soil I’d taken for the spoil heap from some animal’s burrow is in fact a growing ant mound.
May 11, 2020
Sun one minute, rain the next. The plastic flamingo bobbing in the wind keeps her eye on the weeds: cleavers, soapwort, cypress spurge.
May 8, 2020
Cold rain getting harder. The Carolina wren’s “tea kettle” call never seemed more appropriate. The catbird lisps and buzzes like a warbler.
May 6, 2020
Rain. A gray catbird on the gray road pecking at things that are not gray. In the trees above, a blue-headed vireo sings possession.
April 30, 2020
Above the sound of rain, buzzy calls of warblers. The young turkey who’s been hanging around wanders out of the woods, looking bedraggled.
April 26, 2020
Cold rain. A big carpenter bee flies in, circles the porch, and disappears under the house.
April 24, 2020
Mizzle. A squirrel emerges from under the porch, spots me, and rears up with one front paw tucked into its chest hair like rodent Napoleon.
April 18, 2020
Did it really rain hard last night, or did I dream that? The creek seems no louder. High against the clouds, a small hawk flaps and circles.
April 13, 2020
Intermittent showers after a night of storms. A dead oak leaf stands upright among the daffodils like someone at the wrong party.
April 9, 2020
Curtains of rain blow this way and that. The crack of branch. Bits of gray paper come flying loose from the old hornets’ nest under the eaves.
March 29, 2020
The almost Kabbalistic way a few syllables of thunder have birthed a whole lexicon of torrent. Fog takes a heavy eraser to the trees.
March 23, 2020
Rain mingled with the ticking of sleet. The early daffodils cluster together, heads nodding, like youths defying a social-distancing order.
March 19, 2020
The rain eases off by midday but the cowbird at the top of a tall black locust tree continues to spill his single, liquid note.