Sunrise somewhere over the rain. In the dripping forest canopy, a dark card-shuffle of wings.
sunrise
Saturday September 18, 2021
Standing out front talking with my mom, I watch the fog behind her turn from pink to orange to gold. A Carolina wren adds color commentary.
Thursday September 16, 2021
Overcast and rainy. in the dim light, sunrise is evidenced only by the appearance of mosquitoes. One after another they land on my knuckles.
Tuesday September 14, 2021
Fifteen minutes before sunrise, thin fog appears and disappears. A few wood thrush notes. A chestnut-sided warbler’s “Pleased to meetcha!”
Tuesday September 07, 2021
Sunlight leaks down from the treetops. A blue jay’s brassy call. Then the silence resumes where it left off.
Thursday August 26, 2021
Ten minutes till sunrise. The gibbous moon is losing its glow like a guitar pick thrown from a stage.
Saturday August 21, 2021
Sun in the trees and a small spot of orange beside the porch: a Mexican sunflower blooming despite having twice been dinner for a groundhog.
Tuesday August 17, 2021
Sunrise hidden by clouds. Towhee and cardinal’s usual soliloquies. A mosquito sings her need into my ear.
Thursday July 15, 2021
Sunrise. A snort from the deer who sleeps under the crabapple tree. A hummingbird zips past the wild garlic.
Saturday June 19, 2021
Sunrise pink fading to orange. The woods’-edge green grows more intense, and the birdsong more diverse.
Sunday April 04, 2021
Just enough upper-atmosphere haze to soften the sun from glare to glow. Today the hepaticas will open—I’m sure of it.
Saturday March 27, 2021
Sun climbing every tree at once. A hollow snag mutters like a stomach with its cargo of squirrels.
Monday March 22, 2021
Sunrise. I watch the trees grow shadows and pelts of sunlight. Anyone rooted can become a gnomon: from the Greek, an expert or interpreter.
Friday March 19, 2021
A ray of sun strikes the lilac, setting its yellow buds aglow. The sound of water gurgling under my yard. The back-and-forth of nuthatches.