Windy and cold, with the sun in and out of clouds. The Carolina wren’s usual enthusiasm sparks a red-eyed vireo to call exactly once.
wind
6/10/2024
Cold and very blue through the trees, where a great-crested flycatcher is going wheep wheep wheep wheep wheep and the leaves whisper everything they’re told.
5/30/2024
Unseasonably cool. When the sun comes out, I can see that the breeze is freighted with bits of down and other plant parts—all the detritus of blooms and booms.
5/28/2024
Breezy and cool—a distinctly autumnal feel, belied by the black walnut trees’ young leaves, not yet full size, light green against the darker forest behind them. My brother the birder hurries past, eyes darting all about.
4/13/2024
The trees still sway after their all-night rave with the wind. The tall serviceberry at the woods’ edge is in bloom: pale foam against heavy, gray clouds.
4/12/2024
Wind throbs in the treetops; the birdcall app thinks it’s a drumming grouse. Juncos twitter from the lilac, which has just burst its buds—a green apparition against the brown woods.
3/11/2024
The ground is white again, and the trees sway like drunks as small orange clouds scud past. I sample the freezing air through a sunburnt nose.
2/29/2024
Leap Day. The trees sway and clatter; winter is back. A small cloud turns pink.
2/18/2024
Through two hats and a hood, the wind’s bitter whisper reaches my ear. Odd moans and creaking sounds issue from the trees, whose dark silhouettes stretch between two absences. Then first light and the cooing of doves.
2/16/2024
Impossible to distinguish the sound of the ridgetop wind from the rumble of freight trains below. The stars fade. A small high cloud turns pink.
2/14/2024
Cold and clearing off for sunrise. From some sheltered spot, a Carolina wren is duetting with the wind.
1/29/2024
Dawnish. Wind makes the big dial thermometer squeak and shiver. A flat-tire moon goes in and out of fast-moving clouds.
1/20/2024
Deep cold. The sound of wind mingling with the dull howl of distant jets. Two dead leaves pick this moment to finally let go and twirl up through their small oak into the clouds.
1/17/2024
Five degrees and breezy. The creek still gurgles, low and slow, with Venus through the trees flickering like a candle in the wind.