catalogue_of_wonder
tender_square four young buck graze a clearing, chewing scenery as light winnows through old growth oaks. 230819
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raze the soft plop of one half of the cardinal_couple touching down on the concrete block beside me, flirting with the idea of a hand feeding before flying away. 230912
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raze sonic taking a nap right in front of me while i sing her a mid-day lullaby. 240324
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raze a family of five raccoons wending their way through my back yard. 240530
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raze a firefly gliding above my head. 240702
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raze leucoma_salicis kissing white clover. 240711
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raze the ladybug that set up shop beside my calendar a few days ago and then disappeared dancing in mid-air to announce its return to my bedroom wall on my birthday. 240816
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raze the cardinal_couple bringing their fledgling on an outing to meet me for me first time. 240823
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raze two doves almost near enough to touch, wings whispering a snippet of song. 250321
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ovenbird Rhizomes buried in dark soil are beginning to send forth their first tendrils. This feels like the epitome of courage--to rise into the uncertain dawn with a will to live against all odds. 250321
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raze a wild turkey trotting across the grass-strewn artery behind this house, casual as you like. 250326
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raze a leaf, battered but beautiful, offering a silent greeting while floating in front of my face. 250402
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ovenbird I'm lost in anxious thought when my daughter enters the room and says, "Something's wrong!" I look up, startled, and say, "What do you mean? What's wrong?" I’m imagining all the things that might be wrong that I will now be responsible for fixing.

"No." she says. "Something's wrong. I can see it on your face."

My dismay turns to wonder. She is so small but already sees so much. 		250403
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raze a bumblebee buzzing on the other side of the window i peer out of to see what might be scurrying across_the_street. 250424
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ovenbird Fronds still curled in their fiddlehead infancy poking up from mossy undergrowth. 250424
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raze my new robin friend coming to see me in the rain. 250425
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ovenbird Fiddleheads again--this time the newest of new growth, curled tightly so close to the soil that they're barely awake, still covered in a blanket of last year's dried growth. 250426
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raze catching a cardinal friend drinking from the communal water_dish for the very first time. 250430
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ovenbird The way you can feel thunder in your chest, like a voice speaking that isn't yours. 250501
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raze a bumblebee blessing wild violet. 250512
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ovenbird A whole expanse of grass became daisies overnight. 250512
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ovenbird A profusion of blossoms on a dogwood tree, each one a cupped hand waiting to be filled with light. 250513
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ovenbird Today I was treated to cottonwood snow--huge drifts of fluff, soft as angora, leaving itself at my feet like an offering. 250524
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raze my daily female cardinal visitor, a carolina_wren, and a robin all came to rest on the same length of fence, almost wing to wing, and each one sang in their own sweet way. 250611
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ovenbird My dog leaning his whole body into me, like I'm the safest place in the world. 250612
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raze a tiny moth walking across my arm to say good_morning. 250708
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ovenbird wild_strawberries, so tiny they would hardly make a mouthful for a mouse, but the deepest red and holding more flavour than twenty giant cultivated strawberries combined.

wild_strawberries have a soul far more expansive then their dollhouse scale implies. They distill the essence of strawberry. When you put one in your mouth you know what strawberry means. 		250709
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raze stefan, one of my sweetest squirrel friends, standing tall to paw at a tuft of floating fluff, trying to seize it from the nearest sliver of sky. 250716
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ovenbird a robin’s nest tucked into the eaves
my daughter asleep in my childhood bedroom
a cicada song in the heat of morning
peaches for breakfast 		250723
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ovenbird The linguistic system inherent in one hand holding another. 250724
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raze a rabbit asleep on my front lawn. 250728
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raze two sparrows sharing the same snack. 250730
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ovenbird A monarch so close I could see the constellation of stars spotting the black of its body. 250731
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ovenbird My children almost dancing in amazement as three bats hunted mosquitoes in the near dark. They named them Matt, Pat, and (hilariously) Zat and were sure they could tell them apart. 250801
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ovenbird The churning crash of waves on the shores of Lake Erie.
My children laughing as the force of all that water hits the backs of their legs and throws them off balance.
A piece of driftwood the size of my hand, twisted and shaped by water and wind and sand. 		250802
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ovenbird A rabbit, nose twitching in the night air, ears taking in every sound, hearing my heart whispering, then carrying that message to someone I love. 250806
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ovenbird My children are entertaining a two year old sitting in front of us, who has been periodically howling on this flight that feels like it will never end, by giving him fist bumps. They're all laughing. And this tiny moment of connection feels like a point of light. 250806
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ovenbird August’s local harvest carried home from the market: peaches soft and aromatic, strawberries deep red all the way to the pith, cherries dark and inviting. I range everything out on my counter, taste it all. If I must be alive I'm grateful for this–a chance to know sweetness, even as it threatens to move quickly past ripeness to fermented decay. 250814
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raze a moth exploring my glasses mid-flight and resting a while on the inside of the left lens before taking its leave. 250815
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raze watching the insect i saved from drowning dance across my arm until its wings were dry enough to fly again. 250818
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raze a bumblebee exploring foliage inches from my face. 250827
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ovenbird A rabbit, shining in a coat encrusted with rain, showing no fear as we passed. It ate the last of the summer grass. We stood and whispered, not wanting to lose this chance to feel a part of all the falling wilderness. 251020
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ovenbird An entire tree whittled down to its stump by a broad tailed carver. The wet earth strewn with sticks and shavings curled like chocolate. My fingers tracing the ridges raised by a rodent’s iron infused incisors. My mind feeling along the edges of all this beautiful destruction. 251212
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ovenbird The first green fronds of the snowdrops shaking off somnolence. 251219
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ovenbird Black storm clouds rushing south from the mountains.
The sun holding its ground over the river delta.
My tall_tall_shadow, a winter wraith poured out over the earth. 		251222
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ovenbird The spider above my front door still spinning her web in defiance of the January cold. 260108
what's it to you?
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