Oak.
Rain in the forecast. This morning I could feel it coming from somewhere in the lowering sky. But not for a little while yet. The titmouse is love-struck, obsessed with the reproductive urge. I hear it every morning. And crows.
Birch.
About midday, the rain began to fall. Lightly, then more heavily, then drizzly again. Chickadees out back.
And in town, herring gulls. But the rain had picked up again, requiring a steady windshield wiper setting. I managed to get about seventy-something envelopes in the mail, then did some grocery shopping, then headed with dog to Beech Hill.
I fully expected to get drenched and for my pickup to soak up that ripe wet-dog smell—but, miraculously, the rain let up a bit just as we commenced. We were the only ones up there (naturally). The trail was only slightly challenging. In fact, toward the top, we even managed a rapid, urgent pace. So much snow gone. Just a remnant stretch on the first rise of the trail, really. And that had stayed thick enough to hold our footing without much slippage.
Coming down, I heard something. Paused. A raven. I’ve noticed that ravens tend to become vocal in the fog—and it was foggy—whereas on clear days they seem to stay mostly silent. (That is, until deep spring, when they begin to utter all kinds of crazy sounds.) No other birds up there, though, that I could see or hear.
Returning, I spotted a little group of robins flying low across the road.
Gone-by spruce.
Tonight, in the wake of the rain, the sky has gone to haze. The waxing moon hangs up there in a comely, circular glow. I thought I might hear woodcocks, but none yet.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the open trail (in the rain).
1. Common raven (voice)
Elsewhere
2. Tufted titmouse
3. American crow
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. House finch
6. Herring gull
7. American robin
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, common raven, herring gull, house finch, tufted titmouse
