28 April 2026 (whiff of skunk)

whiff of skunk . . .

a roadside ditch brimming

with coltsfoot

11 October 2023 (living on)

living on

through its odor

roadkilled skunk

7 April 2022 (whiff)

a whiff of skunk . . .

chive stalks poking through

last year’s leaves

14 February 2020 (skunk)

the first whiff

of spring in the air

skunk spray

November 15: Dark early

Darkness by 5.

Hoping I don’t meet a skunk

on my way inside.

October 1: Skunks

fall constellations

in the backyard

holes dug by skunks

July 26: Saturn rising

Summer evening--

Saturn in the telescope,

whiff of nearby skunk.

Posted with Blogsy

April 5: Emergence

Pulling the blind
on a skunk sniffing
the still-frozen lawn.

September 10: Skunk hour

In the redolent dark

soccer ball on the lawn becomes

so easily a skunk

Posted with Blogsy

August 2: Visitors

Three skunks tumble
along the newly-mown path.
We three watch from inside.

December 11: Whiff of Skunk

Green parsley still pokes up through the dried leaves in our garden. Friends report budding forsythia. There's no snow to be seen on the ridgeline of Mount Megunticook as we roll into the two-week Christmas count-down. Our bottle of Grandpa Lundquist's Holiday Glogg waits, unopened. Our Christmas decorations are still tucked away in the shed.

But despite the askew weather, we did do some seasonal things today: we bought Christmas wrap and flannel PJs at Reny's, and then we watched a football game with a friend while enjoying moose stew next to a warm wood stove. As we left our friend's house, passing his many cords of stacked firewood, we picked up on a whiff of skunk in the cold air. Another living thing confused about what season it is. Our friend says the skunk lives under the woodshed. If the weather continues like this, that's going to be one tired skunk come spring, wishing it had had a few more days of hibernation.

Christmas lights through trees,
new flannel reindeer PJs...
and so it begins.