After most of the other birds have run out of steam, a brown thrasher appears at the woods’ edge, singing loudly and repeating each phrase as he does, like a cheerleader for the sun just clearing the treetops.
An hour past sunrise, a gnatcatcher picks off the few survivors of a tent caterpillar colony in a black cherry at the woods’ edge. A hummingbird circles my red bandanna.
Sun glimmering through a scrim of cirrus. The aftermath of the dawn chorus isn’t exactly silent; it just has longer pauses for breath… until the goldfinches go gadding about through the treetops like a rickety circus.
Sun from under a lid of cloud illuminates the western ridge. A hooded warbler just inside the woods’ edge moves into the yard as the sky clears, keeping up his insistent chant for more than an hour.
Cool and mostly overcast. A phoebe hawks insects low to the ground. An hour later, I’m pleased to find I can now i.d. a yellow-throated vireo’s call—so much hoarser and more rushed than its red-eyed or blue-headed cousins.
Heavily overcast and cold. A half hour past sunrise, only a field sparrow, a red-eyed vireo and an ovenbird still sing. A few goldfinches chitter in the treetops.
A gloomy morning punctuated by brief showers. I look up at one point to spot a male hummingbird rocketing back and forth above the creek, performing for a female perched in a black elderberry bush that has just leafed out.
Cold, but no frost. A hummingbird just after sunrise buzzes up to a dame’s-rocket blossom, turns and flies off. The sun gathers strength in the treetops.
Cool and nearly clear, with cirrus coming in after sunrise, and the sun like an old soldier fading away as a truck rounds the bend of the road, hauling a new roof for the barn.
Out early for the moon and whippoorwill, and soon enough the only blue sky we’re likely to see all day. Everything drips. Half-open aspen leaves hang like gray dishrags from the sapling in the yard.
Steady rain since before daybreak: the dawn chorus gains a rhythmless drumbeat. A red squirrel tries to run past my feet and loses its nerve in a panicked scrabbling of claws.
Another cold, clear morning. I hear the low voices of birders mingling with the ovenbirds and field sparrows. The long-delayed leaf-out of frost-struck oaks lets the lusher understory shine, green-gold.
Crystal-clear and quiet as the sun goes from gold to yellow and leaves its nest of leaves. The waxy chatter of goldfinches gives way to the wheeze of a black-and-white warbler.
A pause between showers fills with birdsong—the red-eyed vireo AKA preacher bird is back. Then a brown thrasher joins the chat.