Tuesday, May 12, 2026, 34.8* F, 73% RH, 0544
To the east, blue mountains cloud apparitions. Morning too cold for gleepers. Birds sing from somewhere: Wood Thrush, Northern Parula, Chestnut-sided Warbler, White-throated Sparrow, Nashville Warbler, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Back-capped Chickadee, Common Yellowthroat, Ovenbird, Blue-headed Vireo.
At 1932 last evening, I left the three exploring the fenced-in-land, passed through the gate, closed it. I wanted to see the wildflowers, the lupine. There are others I can’t identify by their leaves, perhaps if they flower and I find them before the deer...The three met me at the gate as if they hadn’t seen me all day. A homecoming filled with wiggles and pushing close. Where were you? Pet me. Pet me. Pet me. Once inside, Zayne bolted for the safety of his room not waiting for a biscuit. I left the door open, returned to the deck, sat in my chair under the umbrella. Ruger and Zsolt came too. They didn’t notice the sky return to sunrise colors, deepen into strong hues of pink, of blue. They didn't notice the blue growing darker absorbing the pink. They didn't notice the color of night. Gleepers began their evening song when I passed through the gate, a few voices, then a chorus. An unidentified bird shrieked once...silence for more than 10 minutes. A single voice tried again, others joined rebuilding the chorus. Zsolt went to bed. Ruger went into the kitchen, sat on the rug by the door watching me. I stayed until my fingers were cold, until all the nighttime lights fed by the sun turned on. Through the open door a small flying bug came frantically fascinated by my desk lamp.
Some join when led by a voice;
some
come inside when the door is left open.
Photo: LJ Austin
