Sherry Chandler bluegrasspoet@identi.ca
I love goldenrod, black-eyed susan, and the old worn-down mountains of the east.
Dave Bonta at 2013-04-25T14:26:16+00:00
A series of high-pitched howls from down in the hollow: coyotes or children? It's hard to tell. I watch a silent, nearly motionless crow.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-04-01T16:10:19+00:00
Rain just past, the gray sky brightens above the eastern and western horizons. A titmouse descends singing into the lilac.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-30T13:20:41+00:00
The first phoebe is finally back, chanting his name in the barnyard. Marcescent leaves of a scarlet oak glow orange, back-lit by the sun.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-22T16:25:11+00:00
A new half-inch of snow; I have to brush off my chair before I sit. The sun behind snow clouds is a white blear, a bear, a blinding tooth.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-08T16:51:42+00:00
The bright sun frees a leaf in the yard from a new fur of snow; a cold breeze raises it from the dead and sends it sailing over the house.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-06T15:20:35+00:00
At the base of the stone wall, a raised figure eight where a vole has ventured out, tunneling just under the surface of the new-fallen snow.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-07T15:47:03+00:00
Nuthatch calls to nuthatch, wren to wren, but the diesel generator roars to nobody. My father stands with his back to it, taking a leak.Sherry Chandler, Lady J likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-02T14:23:14+00:00
(2) Driven off by the new occupant, a second squirrel perches a foot above the den hole grooming its genitals.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-03-02T14:21:43+00:00
A squirrel climbs the elm with a mouthful of dried leaves, goes into the old flicker hole and turns to face out, ready for other contenders.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-02-24T17:04:48+00:00
In the cold wind, a gray fish fights against the lilac twig that snagged it: the collapsed remains of a caterpillar tent fallen from a tree.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-02-20T17:21:23+00:00
Bitter cold and overcast, but still the porch roof rattles with a staccato rhythm of drips from the second-floor roof's two-inch icicles.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-02-13T14:25:55+00:00
One squirrel leads another through the woods, pausing repeatedly to let it catch up. Only when a third joins in does it turn into a chase.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-02-11T15:16:22+00:00
A cloud has settled in and delegated to the trees its responsibility to rain. Some restless animal gnaws on a beam under the house.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-02-06T16:52:40+00:00
Snowflakes swirl clockwise around the yard. A red-tailed hawk flies over, flapping hard, pale feathers almost invisible in the falling snow.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-01-24T16:11:27+00:00
New snow on every twig: a strange fur, this fine, dry stuff that forms so far below freezing. A vole rustles in the leaves beside the porch.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2013-01-25T14:29:17+00:00
Crows begin scolding a red-tailed hawk on the far side of the field, and a squirrel digging in the yard hurtles into the bridal wreath bush.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2012-12-27T16:20:42+00:00
A fresh six inches of snow. Most tree branches have been swept clean by the wind, but the rose bush harbors a tangle of snowy canes.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2012-06-19T15:55:58+00:00
While a question mark butterfly mines the pores of my index finger for salt, a mosquito lands on my ring finger and sinks her own probe.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2012-04-14T15:48:19+00:00
Half molted now, a patchwork of yellow and green, the goldfinch goes twittering past the crabapple's half-open blooms.Sherry Chandler likes this.
Dave Bonta at 2012-04-15T17:00:41+00:00
Breezy and cool. Small white moths—or are they flower petals?—flutter against the grey sky. A field sparrow's ascending notes.Sherry Chandler likes this.