Upper Truckee Marsh, January 30th

You won't see the gull fly but can still hear its call
with the world closed in pogonip, simple and small.

It's all dim-lit somehow, though still thoroughly white.
Just hoarfrost on willow sticks in gently chill light.

You'll sink steps through deep snow to that crescent of sand
and the murmuring swell of the lake come to land.

Still half-held in sleep, geese just drift out of the fog.
They float and they dabble in peaceful dialogue

Which you can't understand but can follow its tone,
Stood only glad to be here and not here alone

While each plash and ripple talks to each quiet wave
And those black, wary eyes wonder how you'll behave.

Conjunct and quiet, you are then part of it too,
That plain melody of day reduced and made new.

You cannot define it though its right at the fore.
You still heard it inside, walking back down the shore

While the mist started to clear as if from a spell
And slow from the willows, the ice crystals fell.

Was the day brightening then or being obscured?

Soon that small, delicate song might no longer be heard.

And if it goes silent, can it still be a refrain?
Because maybe the answer might help to explain

 Why you would see, walking home in that second dawn,

 A once playful raven chasing after a swan.

Hawk'n Scribble Cheeseburger

"Red-shouldered Hawk"

 

It's frustratingly difficult to capture the expression on the hawk's face but I feel like the drawing came out good in its own way.  Maybe like a shot of a split-second after the photo where he realized he was being watched.  The beak shape feels impossible to get right as well and the wing feathers I'm not sure I even understand but it's fun to try.

"Mountain Chickadee"

This was just a quick, loose one I did with the Nature Journal Club but I think the freer hand captured a little more of the personality if also an inaccurate beak size...