29 May 2025 (river)
Kristen Lindquist
river swelling with rain the rattle of a wren
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: wren
2 March 2023 (snow)
Kristen Lindquist
snow on saguaros
the morning flurry
of cactus wrens
7 May 2021 (river)
Kristen Lindquist
spring sun . . .
following the wren
following the river
14 March 2020 (wren)
Kristen Lindquist
palmetto breeze
a skittering leaf
becomes a wren
13 April 2019 (golf)
Kristen Lindquist
Watching the PGA Masters on t.v. this afternoon, feeling envious of the true spring happening in Georgia while here in Maine patches of snow persist.
hot pink azaleas
and a wren loudly singing
television golf
June 23: Cathedral Woods
Kristen Lindquist
the wren’s song
unfurled above twinflowers
fairy houses
December 21: Solstice
Kristen Lindquist
wren on the suet
all the Christmas lights plugged in
Winter Solstice
June 25: Iris
Kristen Lindquist
Posted with BlogsyApril 9: Dueling wrens
Kristen Lindquist
April 3: Spring snow
Kristen Lindquist
Just as we began this morning's hike up Mount Battie, the snow started to fall and the wind started to howl. We three women and the dog accumulated snow as we walked quickly to keep warm against the wind. Fortunately the inclement weather didn't quiet the season's first sapsuckers and Winter Wren.
Snow falling faster.
Long trilled song of the wren
from somewhere in the woods.
Snow falling faster.
Long trilled song of the wren
from somewhere in the woods.
February 16: Wren
Kristen Lindquist
Yesterday, snow and temperatures hovered around zero; today, rain and nearly 50 degrees. Even so, I wasn't expecting to hear a Carolina Wren calling loudly across the street when I left for work this morning. A southern bird that was a real rarity in Maine when I was a kid, over the past decade or so the resilient Carolina Wren has begun to settle in here; more and more seem to be wintering over. But it's not yet as established and abundant as the cardinal, another southern species that made its way north, or the Mourning Dove, which we take for granted now but which was an exciting sight for Maine birders back in the 1950s.
trilling loudly in the rain
sounds grateful for the thaw.