ep-19

Divided

There were too many iris at the farmhouse in Virginia. And too few here. So Sarah got out the shovel.

ep-17

Site Fidelity

A sound from somewhere in the pines. That liquid, emphatic whistle that Baltimore Orioles make, too bright for early May. Then a movement. Then that color: orange so saturated it looks wrong against the needles.

ep-16

Ten Out of Three Hundred

Last October, my youngest daughter, Byrd, and I planted three hundred tulip bulbs in the ground. Three hundred. We were on our knees in the dirt for the better part of a weekend The final count, I can now confirm, is ten. Ten out of three hundred.

ep-15

Wild Geese

The matter at hand, specifically, is one goose. He appeared about ten days ago and claimed the path between the rectory and the church. Not the pond. Not the grass. The pathway. He is large, he is certain, and he has made his position on foot traffic abundantly clear

ep-14

Abundance

The pond didn't break the weir board. The abundance did. All that water, pressing outward the way water does, following the only instruction it has ever been given.

ep-13

Who Are Your Waters?

I am on vacation in Virginia as I record this, on the shores of the Pamunkey River. And I am not at the pond. But I am at one of my waters.

ep-12

Already Rising (Easter Day)

The pond didn't wait for Easter morning to begin its resurrection. It started without us.

ep-11

Two Processions (Palm Sunday)

This week a sure sign of spring: the spring peepers appeared on Thursday. I heard them for the first time as I left the church in the afternoon, small exaltations rising from the water's edge, declaring something we cannot understand but that they cannot stop saying.

ep-10

Imperfect Love

The male swan is patrolling. His mate is nesting in the northeast corner, out of sight from the road, tending something small and fragile and not yet born. And he is out here doing what he does every spring: driving away anything that comes near.

ep-9

Fearless

Earlier this week, a swan was working at the edge of the ice when we saw it pressing its long neck down through the gray surface, reaching for food beneath. Woodford and I stood at the water without speaking, the way you do when something has earned your full attention.

ep-8

What looks back

I find myself standing at the edge more than usual this week, trying to read it. The heron is already back at its post, unbothered by the ambiguity. It simply stands in whatever the pond is, and waits.

ep-07

Mud Season

Anyone who has ever tried to hide something by putting more on top of it knows this. Paint over a damaged wall and the cracks show through worse than before. Hang a door on a crooked frame and every gap announces itself.