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Should I start reading last year's morning porch observation before posting this year's? Well, at least I'm consistent. http://ur1.ca/05lr |
Rain. The snow's almost gone, but the forest floor has been altered: no longer scruffy and mammalian, but sleek as a red-backed salamander. |
@haikuhabits Depends. In social or ecological terms, it's a near impossibility. Practically speaking, here in PA, it's an illusion at best. |
Rain and fog. Only the low rumbly sounds break through: a jet, a train. Sitting in the dark, it's almost possible to believe in isolation. |
@J_Kaye Hi. I've been twittering since Nov 2007, the "keeper" posts archived on the tumblelog you linked (thanks). |
WordPressers: the Akismet Auntie Spam Greasemonkey script, http://ur1.ca/03mx does not work with 2.7. Comment management just got harder. |
How the acoustics vary from one morning to the next! Yesterday, the hollow was a soundproofed room; today it's as echoey as a concert hall. |
Cloudy and cold, but the chickadees, titmice, juncos and finches are carrying on as if they were seeing these trees for the very first time. |
I come out during a snow squall and am quickly camouflaged in white. Twenty minutes later, the sky is blue and I'm squinting into the sun. |
@Wrenaissance Verizon is easy that way. |
...and scattering the blood of a white rooster. That's how we roll here in generator country. |
Goosing the DSL to life involves an increasingly complex rigamarole of unplugging/replugging, restarting, calling my own number on the phone |
It's cold--the porch floorboards pop when I come out--and still as a tomb. The distant calls of a female great-horned owl go unanswered. |
@Wrenaissance I remember tuning into the Clinton impeachment hearings on NPR just to hear Barney Frank go off. He's very droll. |
Tröeg's Doublebock, "The Tröegenator": dumb name, but an excellent breakfast beer. All you people are suddenly both sexy and hilarious. |
Juncos gather on the gravel driveway, replenishing their gizzards with grit. Up and down the big maple, it's squirrel kabuki, love and war. |
Patter of rain from a leaden sky. Mouth-shaped wounds on the cherry tree where the porcupine chewed it--by far the brightest spots of color. |
Out before dawn, I hear the crunch of boots up in the woods. It stops. All over the mountain, hunters are sitting silently in the trees. |
It doesn't take a hard wind to get the trees talking, merely the right wind. A nuthatch's nasal commentary. The whistling of doves' wings. |
