Hillside Prairie after Tuesday's burn.
Wednesday, April 30. Each morning has a character of its own. The woods this morning are full of yellow-rumped warblers. On the far side of the river, a large fish keeps leaping out of the water, exposing a pale yellow underside. Further along, a coot rests in the grass at the water's edge. A great blue heron unfolds its wings and flies upriver with surprising grace, so large that its shadow swims in the river beneath it. Near Turtle Pond, half a dozen blue jays complain of my approach. The birds are so blue—80 proof distillation of sky. A garter snake is sunning itself on the path. On Turtle Pond itself, eight blue-winged teal. Hillside Prairie, burned on Tuesday afternoon, is black.
Trout Lilies blooming in the woods.
Thursday, May 1. A cooler, cloudier morning than yesterday. Along the river, I catch a few fleeting glimpses of the elusive brown thrasher, a flash of distinctive cinnamon brown. House wrens twitter in the woods. Another flash of lighter brown: a thrush (possibly a veery). At the edge of the blackened prairie, a meadow vole darts from one hole to the next. Each morning, the trout lilies are further advanced in their blooming. And what are those small greenish birds that seem, at a distance, to be no bigger than my thumb? Ruby-crowned kinglets? A mere inference of bird, the least green vibration of the highest branch.
My poem " Phrasebook " has been published online in Ergon: Greek/American Arts and Letters .
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