Rain and fog. Gray-green lichen glows on tree trunks in the woods and on every twisted branch of the old crabapple beside the springhouse.
rain
Friday December 13, 2019
Two degrees below freezing, but the rain remains rain. Somewhere above the fog, an airplane’s single propeller.
Friday December 06, 2019
The snow has retreated to the tops of logs. A squirrel’s scold-calls blend with the whine of traffic from over the ridge. A patter of rain.
Sunday December 01, 2019
After hours of rain, woods and meadow are shrink-wrapped in ice. The black birch twigs creak as chickadees land to liberate a few seeds.
Wednesday November 27, 2019
Late morning, and it’s still not fully light—the clouds are too heavy. The sound of rain on the dry leaves like fat sizzling in a fryer.
Wednesday November 06, 2019
Blue sky reflected in pools of rainwater in our seats. A magpie flies out of the elm’s crown with a nasal cry. I’m off to America again.
Saturday November 02, 2019
High gusts of wind salted with rain. Three goldfinches cling like limpets to the thistle seed tube feeder as it careens back and forth.
Friday November 01, 2019
It stops drizzling by mid-morning; I dry off a chair to sit. The rose bush, I notice, still has at least 13 buds.
Sunday October 27, 2019
Bright sun illuminates the fading elder leaves, bejewels the rain-soaked grass, polishes the fresh dog turd.
Thursday October 24, 2019
Looking out at the pouring rain and a few sodden birds hunched at the feeders, I catch a whiff of pancakes through the walls.