27 July 2024 (a blue egg)
Kristen Lindquist
a blue egg
among the brown
summer haze
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: haze
5 August 2022 (haze)
Kristen Lindquist
summer haze
the roadside crowded
with Queen Anne’s lace
3 August 2022 (haze)
Kristen Lindquist
afternoon haze
the wheezy calls
of the young titmouse
February 5: Moon before a snowstorm
Kristen Lindquist
Last night's moon:
Hazy crescent moon
trapped behind a fence
of bare branches.
Hazy crescent moon
trapped behind a fence
of bare branches.
March 20: Vernal activity
Kristen Lindquist
Today's the official first day of spring, the vernal equinox. (And yesterday was the official "ice out" day for Megunticook Lake.) From here on out, we enjoy more daylight than darkness. Energized by this transition (and a big mug of green tea), I sang loudly along with the car stereo this morning as I drove up the coast to a meeting. A warm spring haze softened the contours of the Camden Hills and blurred the islands out in the bay. A good morning to be alive on the coast of Maine.
Later this afternoon, when I'd opened the office window once more, I thrilled to hear the end-of-day songs of robins fill the air for the first time this year. I looked out, and the vacant, grassy lot across the street was dotted with birds hopping around, hoping for worms. They're truly back, and now we're rolling into the green season--not that I'm ruling out an unexpected snow fall or two. Yes, it's supposed to be in the 70s tomorrow, but according to Maine weather tradition, you can't rule out anything until Memorial Day. At least.
Blue islands, blue bay,
and robins singing vespers
this first day of spring.
Later this afternoon, when I'd opened the office window once more, I thrilled to hear the end-of-day songs of robins fill the air for the first time this year. I looked out, and the vacant, grassy lot across the street was dotted with birds hopping around, hoping for worms. They're truly back, and now we're rolling into the green season--not that I'm ruling out an unexpected snow fall or two. Yes, it's supposed to be in the 70s tomorrow, but according to Maine weather tradition, you can't rule out anything until Memorial Day. At least.
Blue islands, blue bay,
and robins singing vespers
this first day of spring.
August 4: Haze
Kristen Lindquist
A soft haze clung faintly to the landscape as I left work this humid evening, muting the edges of trees and lawns. The overgrown field of milkweed, goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace, fern, and timothy surrounding our office lightly perfumed the air with the scent of hay. Besides the background whirr of crickets, several goldfinches chirped merrily as they dipped over the tall grass. The moment was dream-like, made even more so by that dazed feeling one sometimes has at the end of a long day of work in a hot office: a high summer's afternoon dream.
Hazy, drowsy field.
I could curl up and sleep here
amid these soft ferns.
Hazy, drowsy field.
I could curl up and sleep here
amid these soft ferns.