Date: 11/18/24 5:42 am From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> Subject: [VTBIRD] 18 November 2024: Hurricane Hill (1,100 feet), WRJ
6:28 a.m. 37 degrees, wind North 2 miles per hour, gusting to 4. Overcast
and damp, blue-gray and dull. The word bleak seems appropriate. Shortly
after sunrise (6:48 a.m.), warm light in the east where the sun ought to
be. A faint pink, *very* faint—not a single highlight and two or three
stops lighter than middle-tone gray. Ansel Adams might have called the sky
Zone VIII, possibly Zone IX (Zone X being pure white). Then, clouds in the
east break into tufts of white, rims ignited. Across the sky, the waning
moon emerges from behind fracturing clouds, lacks its southeast corner, and
shines like a new coin, an irrepressible brightness in a featureless sky
... before dissolving into daylight. Twelve species of birds, including
red-tailed hawk (calling from the evergreen shoulder of the Hill), common
raven (garrulous and loud), common crow (taciturn and tasteful),
black-capped chickadees (crowds), and pine siskin (high in the hemlocks).
A flock of doves moves between neighborhood feeding stations, whistling
wings ripping damp air.
A barred owl on a telephone line watches me and then takes off into dark
woods—wings silent as the *g* in *night*.
