Hard, steady rain since the wee hours, but the crows still show up to yell from the top of the tallest tree at what would be sunrise.​

Sun through thin clouds at mid-morning. A suppressed burble of wren-song from the woods' edge. Yellow leaves festoon the reddening stiltgrass in the yard.

Clear but not as cold. The shadows of three silent, low-flying geese cross the porch as a larger flock to the south provides the soundtrack of goose music.

oh god, don’t make me start giving a shit about the nobel prize again! I’m glad they’ve crowned their poet of the decade & that she’s a great one. now I get to watch poets & poetry lovers being pathetically grateful that our weird kink has been recognized, however briefly, as culturally significant

Clear, cold, and loud with highway noise due to an inversion layer. Dead-center in my view from the porch, I spot a mile-a-minute vine in the lilac that I somehow missed and walk down to rip it out, blue berries spilling into the weeds.

The coldest morning of the autumn so far, but no frost. Pileated woodpeckers yammer in the distance as the sun climbs through golden leaves toward the moon's thin grin.

You bet.

Cheers, Sam.

More clouds than sun, with walnut trees undressing in the wind, and the leaves on the porch turning over like restless sleepers. The periodic bang of a walnut landing on the back roof is loud as a gunshot.

“Distinctions between worlds are fine.” A poem by Karen Solie.

My pleasure!

Overcast at dawn. A great-horned owl calls in the distance. A train horn at the Plummer Hollow crossing blows a major-key chord with a passing resemblance to the old Windows start-up music.

in Act 2 of Cosi Fan Tutte, and guys, I don't think it's going to pass the Bechdel Test