Cloud beyond Beech Hill.
On a sunny summer afternoon, if your world faces east, you might enjoy a cool view of the gathering twilight, the lengthening shadows, the lazy feel of the end of another day. If, on the other hand, your view is oriented to the west, you’re liable to bask in the warm orange light of the sun as it starts its descent beyond the inland hills.
Bee.
I won’t tell the tale of the kind of work day this turned out to be. I’ll just mention that I awoke to the slight sound signaling a text message arriving to my cell phone. And that I didn’t eat breakfast until 3:30 p.m. After breakfast I rode my bike fast along a sunny, mild landscape frequented by robins, jays, sparrows, cardinals, crows. And after my bike ride, I grabbed my dog’s leash, hooked up my dog, and we high-tailed it for Beech Hill. The open trail.
The open trail climbs the western slope of the hill. The day had grown later than usual by the time we arrived, but sun flooded the hillside, warmed the summer grass. Coming up along the road, I heard the voice of a red-eyed vireo—a common bird on the other, wooded side of the hill these days—which got me thinking about the path of the sun, the rotation of our planet, and why direction matters. Had we hiked the wooded trails, all would be dim and green and cool and kind of languid. There would be close sounds, like rustling poplar leaves and scurryings in the undergrowth. But on the side we chose, the sounds were wide and distant, and the day was plain and bright and vivid. Jack trotted along. I swung my arms.
Bees attending the trailside wildflowers. Waxwings sailing over in pairs and threes. Goldfinches everywhere. Crows were congregating down at the sunny base of the eastern field. Two couples sat in the grass on either side of Beech Nut.
American crow.
I imagined the poignant, lovely calls of wood-pewees and hermit thrushes down the wooded slope. Here in the sun, Jack and I ate a few blackberries.
In summer, the eastern sides of things might cater to the young and impatient—rise early, get busy, play until you’re exhausted come shady afternoon. The western sides might have an allure to the more mature among us, who busy themselves with routine responsibilities early and yearn for warmth and sunsets—being in the afternoons of their lives.
Or maybe I’m all mixed up. Who knows?
All I knew this afternoon was the thrill of hearing the low croak of a raven and the newly familiar chip note of a chestnut-sided warbler. And the taste of blackberries. And the lovely long view of the bay.
Tonight, the moon seems full but distant—somehow smaller than usual. I had the windows open, and Jack got all riled a minute ago after having caught the scent of something out the screens. I think of the olive-green afternoons of my youth and the afternoons yet to come. Still compelled to chase the sun.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6:15 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. American goldfinch
3. Eastern towhee (voice)
4. Savannah sparrow
5. American crow
6. Cedar waxwing
7. Common raven (voice)
8. Gray catbird (voice)
9. Common yellowthroat (voice)
10. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
11. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
12. Song sparrow
Elsewhere
13. White-breasted nuthatch
14. Northern cardinal
15. Herring gull
16. Mourning dove
17. House sparrow
18. American robin
19. Blue jay
20. Laughing gull
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, gray catbird, herring gull, house sparrow, laughing gull, mourning dove, northern cardinal, red-eyed vireo, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, white-breasted nuthatch
