|
Previous Report | Current Report | Next Report
|
|||||
| |||||
Finch in oak | |||||
Another fair and friendly day—a number in a series. Yard birds have gone off into their natural habitat, out of sheer exhiliration. The starlings' tumult grows. House finches, goldfinches, chickadees, and mourning doves stop off at (or near) the feeder on occasion; gulls and crows fly by. Temperatures again the low-70s by early afternoon. Song sparrows and house sparrows—and what sounds like a chipping sparrow (my ear isn't as attuned to these)—exult from the fringes. Traffic on Route 1. At one point during midday I spot a Clam Cove fish hawk flapping low over the road, southbound. A trio of double-crested cormorants flies overhead in tight formation. Come early evening, the earth has grown rich and green and heavy with the scent of life. I sat for a time out in the side year, looking at the sky, as a lovely edge of clouds flowed through. A laughing gull flew over, laughing. Next thing I know, a rush of small birds—starlings and grackles (from where?) mostly—leaped into the sky on fast wings: the hawk was passing to the west, above the hill. The hawk flew in a rather leisurely way, I thought, considering its frantic escort. It carried some small creature in its claws. The sweet smell of the air this night provoked sudden, deep-kept memories of other nights, in other places, with other hopes and dreams. A breeze had risen, and the evening clouds, a ragged herd, moved west to east in a steady stream, obscuring then revealing the moon. | |||||
|
Bird Report is a discursive, intermittent record of what's outside my window in Rockport, Maine, USA (44°08'N latitude, 69°06'W longitude). —Brian Willson | |||||
©1997-2010 by 3IP |