Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The woods are wet with this afternoon's rain, and now the air is pregnant with the songs of spring peepers and toads. I watch the sunlight fade over the northwestern sky as an ovenbird makes its final calls in the twilight. A hummimgbird buzzes by, almost not noticing my presence on its way to the feeder. The creek, full with the recent rains, rushes over the big beaver dam, half a mile away back in the swamp, as a mist moves in and out. The air smells of damp pine needles, of dirt, of wood smoke, of life. In the distance, a woodcock peents, then flutters in a wide circle to the sky.