7:09 a.m. 23 degrees, wind NW 9 mph, beech leaves in motion, a dusting of snow. Walking in the wake of a cold front. Sky: a long, thin gray cloud in the south, gray rubble in the east morphs to rose. Clear everywhere else. Permanent streams: loud and mostly iceless. A deer bolts across the road, along the south side of the lower stream. Ignites dogs, tails wagging, leashes taut. Wetlands: welcomes deer. Rose-rimmed clouds germinate in the west. Gate to the marsh needs an oil, pines speaking in tongues . . . squeaks, groans, moans. Pond: all white except for a wide black stripe. The stripe: a lengthwise crack, east to west, begins at the delta and extends to the opposite shore. Draws water, which melts snow several feet on either side. Then, freezes. Trackless surface. No hockey otter.
Raven pair over the marsh, calling. Mixed flock of nuthatches and chickadees constellate in the hemlocks and aspens, on the feeders, an undercurrent of joyous chatter, a morning metronome . . . ad infinitum. A blue jay in the backyard picks up an ice-cold acorn. A pair each of hairy and downy woodpeckers and a titmouse take turns on the suet.
Septic man in the front yard, hose out, motor on. With a map in hand, he searches for the tank on the wrong side of the garden. Disperses jays, woodpeckers, nuthatches, and gray squirrels. Even Ernie, the partridge, leaves. Not chickadees, which have a high tolerance for our little foibles.