In the patch of garden between our tiny house and Merrynook, a Hermit Thrush — furtive, skulking — appears, reappears, disappears. Moist...

Outside the cabin, as I rush from one task to the next, an improbably wet sound overhead. Bird wings, but as if they were flying through...

We call them “pie birds.” Birds so common that surely they wouldn’t be missed if four-and-twenty of them got baked in a pie. Snarky...