Date: 6/21/20 5:27 am
From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...>
Subject: [VTBIRD] June 21, 2020: Coyote Hollow, Thetford Center, VT
5:41 a.m. 61 degrees, wind NNW 0 mph. (Father's Day. I slept in.) Sky:
tissue-paper white, soft and foggy (tissue-paper thin), cloudless. Then,
seemingly all at once, the lower atmosphere congeals to chowder. The entire
valley encased in fog, which hangs at treetop-level above the wetlands like
a cloud that lost its buoyancy. Fog everywhere . . . thickening, eclipsing,
enshrouding; the big pines along the far shore where the red-shouldered
hawk surveils have been blotted-out. To verify what I'm seeing, I consult
the Weather App on my cellphone. In all caps, just below *Thetford
Center* reads
the word *FOG*. We're in sync. I'm relieved. Where would I be without my
phone?

DOR: bullfrog, pancake-flat and as large as a slipper; an optimistic milk
snake, a yearling (makes me sad).

Too bad I can't wring moisture out of the sky; permanent streams need a
transfusion. Their stone-studded interior looks like weathered bones. A
fossil streambed.

Robins calling and singing, chasing each other through the woods. Time for
a second clutch? Are the first-clutch fledglings hungry? Is everybody lost
in the fog? A pair of hairy woodpeckers, above it all, tap an ailing cherry
limb. A clamorous mob of red-eyed vireos up and down the road, both sides.
Nothing dissuades them; Father's Day a foreign concept. Vireos are all
working too hard.

A yellowthroat, his behavior subdued, calls from an alder limb; his
sidekick, the chestnut-sided warbler nowhere to be seen or heard. Perhaps,
he has chicks to feed? The world is turning, ripening, dispersing . . . and
ever so slowly darkening. Father's Day is late this year. Birds don't seem
to notice and carry on in idiosyncratic and unassailable ways.

On the pond: two painted turtles idle on the surface. No sign of otter. No
sign of snapping turtle. It's a another day, full of promise, full of fog .
. . my phone says so.
 
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