30 November 2024 (a crow flies through)

a crow flies through

the trees’ long shadows

morning frost

16 March 2024 (falling)

falling into

the swollen river

an old oak’s shadow

5 February 2024 (kitchen clatter)

kitchen clatter

porch rails shadow

backyard snow

12 February 2023 (storm-heaped)

storm-heaped seaweed

my shadow lurches

up the beach

30 January 2022 (after the storm)

after the storm

playing in the snow

shadows of trees

7 January 2021 (deer)

shadows on snow

the grey of deer mingling

with the grey of trees

5 December 2019 (tracks)

new snow

deer tracks crossing

long shadows of trees

January 5: Flow

Mesmerized by the play of blue shadows, shadows of trees swaying in the chill wind, over the unmarred snow in the backyard...

Shadows sway on snow,
echo river's currents.
Change is a constant.

March 9: Chasing my shadow

Often on longer drives, my mind wanders into more imaginative terrain. Perhaps it's the stimulation of the ever-changing landscape outside the window or the simple thrill of being on the road with blue skies and sunshine around me. As I was driving eastward home from a trip to Bath this afternoon, the setting sun  cast the shadow of my car directly before me on the road. I was tailgating my own shadow. My car is fairly compact, squat-looking from the sun's low angle. I amused myself with the idea that my car's shadow looked some sort of Japanese anime character: the side-view mirrors gave it the appearance of having ears; the two front seat headrests were its eyes. Weird thought, I know. But it helped while away the miles. I was actually a bit disappointed when the sun sank so low that the shadow disappeared; I'd gotten used to thinking of it a separate entity that I was following up Route One.

My car's cast shadow
becomes a strange gray creature
I'm following home.

January 15: Shadows on the Snow

As I sat at my desk writing this morning, my attention was diverted by something small darting back and forth outside the window. It took me awhile to figure out what it was, because it was moving fast, and, it turns out, wasn't truly tangible. I was seeing shadows on the snow of a nuthatch moving quickly and with agility among the boughs of a tree hanging over the back yard.

As I watched more intentionally, more shadows flickered across the snow. A flock of bright-throated goldfinches passed through, then a handful of chickadees flew back and forth from the bird feeder on the other side of the house. A chickadee landed right in front of me on the porch rail outside my office window and then flew up to grab something off the gutter--some frozen insect carcass, perhaps? A pair of blue jays made their presence known. Then a downy woodpecker flew in to explore a tree trunk. A small flock of starlings, a species I've never seen in our yard before, cast large shadows as they perched for a moment in our big maple tree. All this activity happened in the space of about half an hour. As the sunlight has raised the air temperature, the birds have clearly been making the most of their daylight time.

Not long after, I even had the privilege of watching a pair of crows chase a red-tailed hawk through the air space above my yard. Imagine how much I'd have missed if I'd never bothered to look up when those shadows first caught my eye.

Shadows on the snow:
a moment's activity,
a flurry of birds.