Date: 8/8/25 5:22 am From: Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> Subject: [VTBIRD] 08 August 2025: Hurricane Hill (1,100 feet), WRJ
5:33 a.m. (thirteen minutes before sunrise). Fifty-nine degrees, wind South
one mile per hour, gusting to two (aspen leaves dangle, have no idea what
to do). A bathroom-countertop sky, a swirl of feathery clouds that hint at
pink, against the borderline of blue and white ... in photographic terms:
sky blue, two F-stops overexposed. A shroud of moisture below the marbling
rises from the White River, tissue-thin mist, emaciated fog—what Scots call
dragon's breath. All contours softened.
*In the Meadow: *yellow sprays of goldenrod, everywhere. A few monarchs.
The last of the tiger swallowtails wafts above grasses heavy with seed. The
din of field crickets. A stand of Jerusalem artichoke, yellow as a
goldfinch.
*Along the roadside:* red-flowering raspberry, fruits developing, and the
last flowers fading ... pink-purple petals browning. Blackberries are also
ripening. Lilac leaves blackening, still a fortress for a bossy northern
house wren. The chatter of tree crickets.
Three ruby-throated hummingbirds, one of whom spent the night in a hanging
plant above my bedroom window, feeding and chasing and twittering before
sunrise—swirl around the feeders, the climbing honeysuckles, the fuchsias,
the begonias. Never a dull moment. Even the honeybees and bumblebees are
still in bed. Four more hummingbirds arrive from the edge of the
woods—mayhem on wings.
Red-eyed vireos are full-throated, ad nauseam (by mid-September, I'll miss
them). Dark-eyed juncos, picking seeds or grit (hard to tell what) off the
road, are reluctant to flush as I walk by.
Twenty species of birds, among them: northern flicker, mourning dove (also
on the road picking seeds or grit); ruby-crowned kinglet; black-capped
chickadee (of course); red- and white-breasted nuthatches; blue jay,
experimenting with sound; three warblers (black and white, yellow, and
American redstart); hermit thrush (singing); rose-breasted grosbeak
(singing); gray catbirds (complaining); and tufted titmouse. No tanagers
this morning.
As August moves ineluctably toward September, goldfinches remind me that
summer isn't over. They carry sunshine on their backs (is there a more
brilliant yellow?) and the meadow in their voices. While swallows gather to
leave, goldfinches prepare to breed. Undulating over the grasses, errant as
the breeze.
