Jupiter and Saturn are getting closer to one another (from our vantage point). They’ll be at their closest on December 21st, so stay tuned.

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Chickadees are beginning to sing their “hey sweetie” songs.
Every green thing is fully leafed out now and so far very little has been eaten by insects or has been food for fungi. A short-lived lushness that’s almost tropical.
Hobblebush leaves are nice in the summer, colorful in autumn, but now, as they unfurl, they might be at their best: an intricate tapestry, white against tan. An elegant tan that we’re probably supposed to call ecru.
Most Christmas tree growers sold all their trees a while back. Has Covid somehow brought out a longing for the sweet smell of balsam?
Turtles are crossing roads. If conditions permit, a helping hand might keep one of them from being hit by a careless vehicle.
Twin fawns are frolicking in the evening. It’s so innocent seeming, it’s hard not to feel a sense of anthropomorphic dread on their behalf.
Some like it cold, including winter crane flies. Well, not too cold, but if it’s above freezing male winter crane flies form loose, bouncy swarms. Females fly up from the ground to choose a mate and then they lay eggs on the forest floor. Craneflies are easy to see against the surface of the snow or when they perch on windowpanes.
The year of the toad? They seem to be everywhere, all sizes, and now trilling from ponds.