Sky gray. Hands cold. The three watch through chain links me taking pictures. Lifting the gate latch is Zayne’s switch to run to jump to be a puppy full force. Zsolt and Ruger are content being petted. Some yellow on the horizon but the sun, she’s not rising. Merlin and I listened, heard not a bird, only traffic. The elixir of morning steams in my cup. In their almost full blush, leaves remain silent without a breeze to touch them. None dance. Not one falls as I watch. Acorns disappeared, remnants broken can still turn an ankle. He moved the plow, a black winged creature to its waiting place, easy to hook up when required to push snow.

    Slid the door open, almost stepped out. I seldom switch on the light. I did this morning. A spider string. No spider. Must be under the siding again. Deck shiny with rain still falling, more like a heavy mist. Air feels colder. The three don’t seem to notice. Zsolt keeps walking as I towel dry him.

     Winter gloves warm my hands. Leaves fall into the stream, onto land. No wind. No breeze. Sun dissolves frost. Breath visible, unlike the birds heard: Golden-crowned Kinglet, American Goldfinch, American Robin, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Swamp Sparrow, Palm Warbler, American Crow, Blue Jay, White-throated Sparrow. Green crystals wait in a galvanized can for other mornings that need sure-footing. A snowflake blinks on the weather station.

     I walked onto the deck without looking for a dangling spider. I turned back toward the door; a chill came over me. I wait for the light to see what’s around me. I wait for the light so I can write what I see. I wait for dripping coffee to fill my cup. A snowflake flashes on my weather station. Candles throb on windowsills. Sun, an orange dot on the horizon.

     It was dark. I almost walked into a spider dangling in the doorway at 0500. I didn’t step over the threshold, I backed up, I remained inside while the three turned on sensor lights. Wind flew leaves yesterday; several towering trees stand bareheaded. More green leaves than this time last year.

     No frost. No birds. No traffic. It’s dark. Weather station shows clouds with rain. Dog hair huddles in corners. How does dog hair know where to go? How does it know where to find others behind doors, against walls, under furniture? There is never just one strand of dog hair on the floor, on the sofa. More than one dog hair shows up in the porcelain sink where it falls off my clothes. I gather them and, strands of my own.

     Tuesday, leaves flew through the sky like flocks of birds moving so fast the camera shot blurred. There are probably broken limbs akimbo in the driveway. Sky blue. Sun white. Frost on fire pit cover, on car windows, on deck railing. A snowflake flashes on my weather station. No birds. The three quickly out/in twice, once before the heavens turned up the light. Because they know they get a biscuit, sometimes the three ask to go out, they stand, they come in. They probably know it’s only half a biscuit since they watch me break them.

     Wood smoke drifts into the dark hollow visible as breath. Black sky. Stars seen last night, unseen now. No traffic noise. No crickets. Too early for birds. The three explore on silent feet their fenced-in-land, eat a biscuit, return to sleep. A face peers through the leaves of an abstract flower on my curtains. Yesterday, lacework on raspberry leaves, the odor of baking bread, ham bean soup.

     Yesterday, I watched leaves fall one after another, some in pairs, didn’t hear a sound, no breeze to dance in. Before sunrise today, more than one White-throated Sparrow. Dew. Sky still deciding her color.

     Almost 0500. Star filled sky. Moon. Bright. Perhaps sensors too cold overnight to turn on lights. Usually the motion of a sliding door is all that’s needed. As the three walk close to the fence, to the sensors, lights shine. Sparkles on wooden railing say dew considered a transition to frost. Exhalations, visible. Close to the pond, an American Crow squawks, Blue Jay responds. Yellow-rumped Warbler, Pine Siskin, Hairy Woodpecker join the call and response. Sun shows me shelves I still haven’t dusted.

     Before anything but blue and the moon found a place in the sky, before coffee dripped into a double-walled cup, I listened for birds while the three meandered before sunrise. I heard traffic. I compared ratios of leaf colors. Just as the sun was a dot on the horizon, birds began talking: White-throated Sparrow, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Blue Jay, Fox Sparrow, American Pipit, Common Yellowthroat, Lincoln’s Sparrow, American Robin, American Crow, Song Sparrow. Pileated Woodpecker’s trill almost musical. No crickets.

     Light sparkles through leaves without visible sun. Sky blue. Clouds mottled, drifting apart like unwound cotton candy. Coffee in a clear insulated cup, steaming. The red truck still parked. No spider art. Birds randomly speaking: Northern Cardinal, Purple Finch, White-throated Sparrow, Blue Jay. Leaf ratio weighted yellow. Double-walled cup, not a hand warmer. A lid would be nice, or a piece of foil-wrapped cardboard to keep in the warmth. Zayne pushes his head under my arm for a snuggle.