Date: 2/8/26 6:57 am From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> Subject: [VTBIRD] 08 February 2026: Hurricane Hill (1,100 feet), WRJ
6:38 a.m. (seventeen minutes before sunrise). -14 degrees. Wind,
North-northwest five miles per hour, gusting to nineteen. Trees converse,
creaking and moaning. A Pleistocene sunrise, a throwback to the Ice Age.
The half-moon, polished silver, shines in the clear west, scraping the
treeline. In the east, the sediments of night, muddied blue and gray, thin
as tissue. Then, morning cracks and the sun trims the dregs, emaciated
orange light spilling between the ribs of trees. I face the east, eyes wide
and tearing, and urge the sun ... like coaxing warmth out of the freezer.
Inside the woods, yesterday's three inches of snow outlines sheltered
trunks and branches. Outside the woods, along the road and in the meadow,
limbs scoured. In a tangle of blackberry vines, last summer's snow-capped
nest. Perhaps a catbird or a cardinal.
6:43 a.m. Below my deck, more than a dozen goldfinches emerge from the
shelter of a pair of northern white cedar—short, rounded, and densely
foliated—the benevolence of evergreen lollipops.
6:51 a.m. Chickadee calls. In less than half an hour, two others raise the
stakes and sing. A duet (for me). A duel (for them). Chickadees disputing
territory on the coldest morning of the year. Who listens beside me?
6:58 a.m. Titmouse sings, a truncated version of *Pe-ter, Pe-ter*—more
lite *Peet,
Peet.*
7:09 a.m. White-breasted nuthatch either calls or sings. To me, they sound
the same, but they certainly know the difference.
*Among the other birds*: downy woodpecker (feeding); pine grosbeak
(calling) from the far end of the meadow, where a few mummified apples
dangle from an tree; red-breasted nuthatch; blue jay (first I've heard in a
month) screams; and red crossbill (maybe two or three, I couldn't tell)
calling in flight—*gyp, gyp, gyp, gyp*.
Crossbills pressed for breakfast. Hurricane Hill's white pine cones are in
short supply this winter. Hemlock and spruce cones, maybe. But seeds are
tiny, and many are needed to keep their fires going.
*Among the missing*: crows and ravens, for morning all winter.
