Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a new, occasional Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, some wry exchange with a stranger or acquaintance, an odd animal sighting, the way the light looked the other evening… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and strikes a contributor as interesting or funny or poignant—or that makes us appreciate living here.

Dear Daybreak:

It's that perfect time of year, not a cloud in the sky. The air is clear and you finally hang up your toils for a seat on the porch. The crickets, a couple of tree frogs , and an occasional jay squawk the only thing outside the silence. Thoughts drift to the swamp maples on the Orange Flat firing the opening salvo. Winter nears. For those who lament, fret not. Go out and grab a maple branch for study. The future buds already burst forth with the promise of next year's spring.

— Deb Clough, Grafton, NH

Dear Daybreak:

They asked "Are you game?" It seems I misunderstood. Unfortunately.

— Jane Masters, Hanover, NH

Dear Daybreak:

Yesterday’s Rain

I need to remember as the clouds crowd away the light and rain deafens, shouting like fury, that instead of a witch casting evil spells with a swoosh of her grey cloak, the storm is a knowing mother, forcing me like an overly stimulated, exhausted child to stop. To retreat to my room. To make space for reason and seasons. To learn from her about the marvel of the blossom and fruit nourished by roots and rain, soil and sun.

I need to remember from yesterday’s rain that had me swimming dark currents, arms aching as I pulled through the hours searching for shorelines, choking, rocked dizzy in the undulating surges. I earned my self as I climbed, hands and knees feeling the rock, head hanging so I could still hear, birds in rapturous celebration. Sitting up to the glow of morning, I saw the scattered raindrops, flung like glitter, each one magnifying the sunlight to crack doubt like a fresh egg.

Muddy puddles clear. They are today’s looking glass, blue islands reflecting bright yolks from mother’s darkness.

~Suzanne Dudley

Dear Daybreak:

My husband and I were driving along Quimby Mountain Rd. in Sharon when a big bird flew across the road directly in front of our car. We stopped and observed a barred owl that had landed on a tree branch not more than 10-15 feet from us. It sat there looking around, sometimes looking directly at us. All we had was an iPhone, but we got a few pictures with it. (We stayed sitting in the car with the windows open). It seemed aware of us, but unafraid—in fact at one point it half closed its eyes. Meanwhile, a blue jay was calling loudly in alarm, some distance away. Our owl friend ignored the jay. Finally, the owl flew back across the road and pounced on something, which it ate. After looking around some more it flew off, and more jays made a big racket. It was special to be so close to this beautiful owl, feeling honored that there was no fear, just its calm presence. —Cynthia Crawford, Norwich, VT