A single gray squirrel—let us call him Barnaby on this humid September afternoon—sits on the far edge of the wooden railing, his tail draped in a loose, low curve. The air is thick, held down by a weak high-pressure system that has kept the dew point hovering near...
A gray squirrel pauses on the wooden lip of the feeding box, its nose tilted downward toward the damp soil of the garden bed. Up at the height of the rooftop anemometer, the morning wind is moving at a steady clip, carrying the dry, continental air of a passing...
A single bead of water, perfectly round and holding a tiny, upside-down reflection of the oak canopy, hangs from the rusted lip of the camera box roof. It is 5:47 a.m. The air in the eastern woods is thin and sharp with the first real chill of late August—that brief,...
A single brown oak leaf clings to a high fork in a white oak, resisting the August humidity. Below it, a female eastern gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) pauses on a horizontal limb, her tail flat against the bark, her whiskers twitching toward the damp earth. Down...
A single red oak leaf, dry enough to scrape against bark with the dry hiss of fine sandpaper, drifts down from the canopy. On a nearby branch, an eastern gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) pauses. Its toes, tipped with needle-sharp claws, find purchase in the...
