5:06 a.m. (time of sunrise stable for the sixth straight day). 61 degrees, wind N 1 mph. Sky: unadorned, a taut sheet of hoary clouds; modestly misty; a cable of fog above the East Branch of the Ompompanoosuc River, shedding and fraying. Permanent streams: disappointing flows; I expected more water after yesterday morning's rain. Wetlands: from emerald to army, fifty shades of green, frogs in silence; miserly as Ebenezer Scrooge, Covid-era cattails hold last year's seedheads, brown clubs on hollow stalks. Pond: only the aquatic penmanship of whirligigs and striders and an oxygen-starved trout disturb the surface. Yesterday's quartet of hooded mergansers elsewhere. From mud to magic: blue flag iris, flower fountains spilling above sword-shaped leaves.
Just off the road, thirty square feet of delicate maidenhair like an overlap of luminous green hands. False Solomon seal and maple-leaved viburnum in bloom. Striped and mountain maple in seed. Every red oak seedling, of which there are many, echoes its own recent history, a tribute to a surfeit of acorns, the glut mammals, the neglect of blue jays.
Wandering through overarching birdsongs: red-eyed vireos; yellowthroats; ovenbirds; black-throated blue and black-throated green warblers; black and white warbler; chestnut-sided warblers; scarlet tanagers; veeries, the virtuosi of pre-dawn light; white-throated sparrows; one strand at a time, chipping sparrow gathering dog hair on the front lawn; cardinal; rose-breasted grosbeak; great crested and alder flycatchers; phoebes; pewees, sad songs out of deep shadows; mourning doves, sad songs off the end of the driveway; catbird; lonely blue jay; chickadees; white-breasted nuthatches; titmice; a far-off crow, rolling caw like distant thunder. Flicker and pileated drumming. Hairy drilling.
Indelible impression: red-shouldered hawk, one valley to the west, hurls voice like a lance, the sweet spot of the morning—the world of wonder prevails amid the drudgery of packing.
Good to take wonder breaks during the packing. So many species of birds! Many of them have vanished now from Central Park. I'm glad they're keeping you company.