Sunset at Beech Hill.
Sometimes when the night wind sucks at the windows and rumbles the eaves, I think about the gigantic red oak leaning directly over the corner of the house where my bed is. But then I roll over and go to sleep. I mean, I can think of worse ways to die than get flattened by a 25-ton tree trunk.
American crow.
The northwest wind was still blowing hard this morning when I first stepped out onto the back deck. It didn’t seem to bother the gray squirrels that dashed along the branches of the gigantic red oak or the chickadees I heard chattering merrily up the hill. The temperature made its way above freezing fairly early, slowly diminishing the crusty piles of snow.
In early afternoon, I happened to see a couple crows flying quick and low above the motel parking lot across the road. Right away I looked for the jogging man—and there he was. Same routine as the past two days: veer off into the corner parking lot, sprinkle pieces of something (bread?), turn and continue down the road. Today there seemed a few more crows, and a pair of herring gulls appeared, as well. Funny how word gets around. In fact, the man is not so much a jogger as a fancy walker—he often extends his arms out to either side and twists and turns like a soaring bird. Maybe there’s some kind of affinity going on.
A quick pass through the haunts of the red-shouldered hawk revealed no sign of the young raptor.
European starlings.
Since much of the day ended up a scramble, it was with no small degree of relief that, at about half past four, I pulled into the parking lot at the head of the wooded Beech Hill trail. A bit later than usual, but so was sunset. I came upon a friend and his dog—a nice surprise—but we diverged at the fork in the trail. I took the high way. The temperature remained in the upper-30s (F), and the air tasted fresh and clean. About half-way up, the luminous western sky lured me off-trail and up a little meadow where in summer I’ve seen yellow warblers, alder flycatchers, and orioles. A lovely divergence, a deviation from my routine. Sometimes that’s where the magic is.
Up the open hillside in the direction of the setting sun. As it dipped behind the hill, I got some photos of the indescribable sky. And at the summit, where I met the trail again, I heard—then saw—one, two, three ruffed grouse take off into the trees in a northerly direction. Winter partridges, three.
About half-way back along the lower trail, I heard the single tweet of a brown creeper. [This winter for the first time I’ve learned to distinguish the sound from a kinglet’s note.] Through the naked trees, the color of the far western sky had dimmed to an impossibly dark brick-colored, purple-colored rose.
When I arrived back at the parking lot, the hardwoods in gloaming seemed the perfect realm of owls. I neither saw nor heard one, though.
Today’s List
Black-capped chickadee
American crow
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
Rock pigeon
European starling
Ruffed grouse
Brown creeper
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, brown creeper, European starling, herring gull, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon, ruffed grouse
