I found a heronry today near my home.
Birds froze to things last night: utility lines, branches, feeders. They left feathers behind when they flew away.
Geometry: two northern flickers — one on the utility pole, one in the sweetgum — and me, below, standing between them.
A European starling found a white feather and dropped it in the birdbath.
A blue jay used a peanut shell to bully other blue jays. He wielded it like a little sword.
Overhead, a single herring gull flew behind several ring-billed gulls.
I am as fussy as an American goldfinch.
I don’t know where the birds go at night, but I want to go there, too.
Songbirds slid off iced branches this morning.
The correct image is always a seed — it contains its own explanation, and defines itself. — Charles Wright
The ground has thawed. Squirrels play in the wet grass.
Morning: A squirrel drags a dried hydrangea blossom to his nest in the silver maple.
The grackles arrived this morning. In the near distance, hundreds of Canada geese are moving north. Only a handful of juncos remain. One sings from the back fence.
I hear tapping on a nearby tree. Two red-bellied woodpeckers jag through the air. They needle the sweetgums then disappear.
I am mildly interested in leaving the house but only to go watch birds somewhere else.
Sunny and warm. Clear skies. Two geese fly past the tornado siren tower.
I live knowing there is a Turin horse in my future, a suffering so great it will finally break me.