September 30: Full moon

Rain kept the full moon hidden last night but I felt its influence, a restlessness that kept me awake much too late. I feel a nap coming on this rainy day after.
 
Invisible full moon
still tugs on
our bodies of water.

Posted with Blogsy

September 29: Leaving the island

How will I sleep now
without the lulling rhythm
of the waves?

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September 28: Night flight

An ornithologist friend showed us videos he made last night of the waxing moon and the silhouettes of birds moving across its face. You could also hear recognizable flight calls from some of the birds.
 
Even the birds
want to be out
in this moonlight.

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September 27: Send off

Someone special was leaving the island, so a chorus of island residents and friends gathered at the wharf to sing her on her way and give her the little bouquets of flowers which tradition dictates must be tossed overboard to ensure you'll return. We too had friends leaving, so it was a jolly parting.

 
Floating petals.
I wave long after
anyone can see me.
 
 
 

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September 19 - September 26: Monhegan escape

I'm on a remote island off the coast of Maine for the fall bird migration, an annual pilgrimage I make in September that's as much about meeting up with old friends and enjoying this beautiful place as it is about the birds. Internet connection and time to write are both intermittent, so here's a set of haiku I've jotted down throughout my stay here thus far:
 

Waves crash all night.
I think of a friend
now lost.
 

Butterfly bush:
yet still surprised to see
so many butterflies.
 
Between broken bottle
and sea glass:
months of wave action.
 
Moonlight
brightening lace curtains
the only light.
 

Crickets loud,
but the surf
is all I hear.
 
Rain falls from the eaves.
The morning
ticks away.
 

Waxwings in viburnum--
to find such
satisfaction.
 
Every yard
harbors a gull or two,
some lame.
 
The key is
to follow
the chickadees.
 
Nuthatch chorus
rings out
in Cathedral Woods.

 
Looking for a spot to pee
I find the hidden patch
of fringed gentians.
 
Thankful the kitten
was only playing
with a rock.

 

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September 18: Harvest

At a friend's farm: tomato vines laden with reddening globes, tight corn cobs sprouting tassles, peppers painted red and green by ripening, pumpkins swelling on the vines, here and there bodies of butternut squashes tan mounds upon the ground, young chickens pecking Japanese beetles in the sunlit yard, a woodpecker spiraling the trunk of the dying pine struck by lightning, and a broad-winged hawk silently passing over the chickadee on the branch...

Garden pregnant
with rounded bodies of squash.
Ripening: sun passing overhead.

September 17: Finch mob

My feeders have been mobbed this weekend by finches, mostly goldfinches and young house finches just beginning to grow in some pink feathers. Working outside I constantly hear their calls--high-pitched, two-note little songs. Even when I can't see them, their voices in the trees give them away, a group of children playing together happily in the next room.
 
Finches' singsong chatter,
sunny morning.
I hum myself.

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September 16: Morning on the harbor

Breakfast at a restaurant on Camden harbor this crisp, sunny morning--a morning on the cusp between summer and fall. Despite the chill, still the schooners head out of harbor, their decks laden with sightseers.

Shifting early light.
Schooner sails out of harbor
into the cold wind.

September 15: Road race

This morning was Coastal Mountains Land Trust's 4th annual Run for the Hills 10K road race in Belfast. As I was helping to register runners, a small falcon--probably a merlin--flew overhead. A bird known for its speed seemed particularly auspicious.

The finish line was on the Belfast Footbridge over the harbor. While I was there helping the timers, seagulls perched atop a nearby waterfront building kept flying up in big scattered flocks against the backdrop of blue sky--like a scene from "The Birds" but without the scary, "they're attacking us" part.

Fanfare of feathers
greets runners after six miles.
And, ah, the harbor!

September 14: Phoebe

While there's an autumn nip in the air, the photo period right now is similar to that in spring. And indeed, I've noticed a few things that have made me think of spring. Spring peepers, for example, were peeping away on Fernalds Neck a few days ago. Dandelions have made a tentative reappearance in my front yard. And today, the phoebe was back outside my window after a long absence, chirping repeatedly in the bayberry bush the same way it does when it first returns in March.

Phoebe returns. But
lush green canopy reminds
me it's summer's end.

September 13: Late night

After attending a gala in Portland, my husband and I arrived home long past our bedtime last night, so tired that it was all we could do to register how beautiful the sky was as we headed inside to sleep.

Home too late to appreciate
the clear night sky,
its spread of stars.