Date: 12/4/24 6:32 am From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> Subject: [VTBIRD] 04 December 2024: Hurricane Hill (1,100 feet), WRJ
6:53 a.m. (thirteen minutes before sunrise). Eleven degrees, wind Southwest
2 miles per hour, gusting to four. River fog above the White and
Connecticut rivers—two long plumes intersecting in White River Junction,
remain well below the ridgeline. Smarts Mountain sports a cap of anorexic
fog, the morning's breath: the remainder of the New Hampshire skyline,
tinted orange. To the north, in an otherwise blue sky, rose and mauve, thin
clouds thinly colored into the wild heart of Vermont, north beyond my
sightline. The summit of Hurricane Hill: tree trunks fracture cold
sunlight—lines of orange out of an orange globe; snow-heavy hemlock boughs
tinted.
Two ravens, commuting west to east, converse in Tongues over the sparse dun
and sepia-colors of a meadow weighed down by snow. Two crows, commuting
south to north, fly over the Hill silently (miracle of miracles).
White-breasted nuthatches in the hardwoods, very chatty, slowly patrol
trunks and branches in every direction imaginable. Picking at things I
cannot see.
Chickadee on an aspen branch, preening. Taking its time, feather by
feather. Honey-colored sunlight oozes down the aspen and washes over the
chickadee, feather in its bill.
Above the forest, pileated flies uphill, black and white flashes. Smooth,
steady flaps (barely undulating) into orange sunlight. Turns south.
Vanishes into the town forest. Out of hemlock shadows, a jungle scream,
loud and sharp. A crow-sized town crier, black and white striped face, red
crest. A long, dangling pause, then another scream. Woodpecker lubricates
sunrise ... let the day begin.
