Date: 11/15/24 7:02 am From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> Subject: [VTBIRD] 15 November 2024: Hurricane Hill (1,100 feet), WRJ
6:44 a.m. Nineteen degrees, wind northwest 4 miles per hour, gusting to 8.
Sunrise decent, not blockbuster: pastel pink and silver clouds dapple the
southeast, stretching and fading east to north. Eventually, on the north
side of the hill, horizon to horizon, the sunrise gives way to powder blue.
Fifteen species of birds, including common goldeneye (heads toward the
Connecticut River, wings noisy as voice), red-tailed hawk, hairy
woodpecker, common raven, American robin (three feasting on freeze-dried
fruit on a lonely crabapple), and hermit thrush (first in more than a
month).
Warm light ignites the woodland canopy and bathes a redtail in roadside
sugar maple—fluffs out and hunkers down to stay warm. Hawk lets me
approach, apricot-colored eyes measuring every step. I pause and lift my
binoculars. My presence turns rancid. Hawk bolts. Flies across the meadow,
tracing the rim of the forest, wings in slow motion, an aerodynamic
calculus of flaps and glides, primary flight feathers teasing the wind like
so many fingers—an unscripted exodus.
A male hairy woodpecker lands in maple. Walks up the trunk and across a
dead limb, *peek, peek, peek—*sharp calls on a cold morning. Flicks off a
six-inch piece of curled bark that floats leaflike, compliments of the
wind, landing well beyond the tree.
Raven in the crown of an oak. Five agitated crows drive raven to
distraction. Leaves post and heads northwest, brushed by sunlight (the
cradle of hope), tail in a wedge. Weaponized bill gleaming. Flaps
thoughtfully like the hawk, followed by long glides (also like the hawk).
Disappears over the west horizon, trailed by the voice of yammering crows
... the dyspeptic side of morning.
