7:18 a.m. 30 degrees, wind WSW 5 mph. Sky: gray, a reluctant sun, strands
of pink. Light, small-grained snow, more than a flurry, less than a
snowfall. Even though *no two snowflakes look alike,* this alleged storm
might only have inspired Wilson Snowflake Bentley. Intermittent streams:
springlike flow, a muted whisper. Permanent streams: slightly less water,
much less ice, volume up, a hypnotic broadcast. Dogs know when it's time to
sit and groom. Wetlands: marsh through a snow-screen, spruce and hemlock
edged in white, a filagree of snow. Pines not so much—needles too long,
branches too widely spaced. Pond: a peaceful rerun of the past five days.

Ruffed grouse crossed the road, one foot after the other, a straight line
of delicate chicken tracks. Deer leaped the lower stream. Coyote traces the
road. Chickadees at the neighbors. Jays in the front yard. Ernie, the
Hungarian partridge, missing for days. No sign of *fowl* play.

A male pileated (red of crest extends below eyes) disembowels a pine—soft
taps and chips, flying bits of wood just off the driveway. Stops. Chases a
hairy woodpecker, which squeals, hits the high notes. Pileated returns to
pine, claws dug in—two toes in front, two behind—stiff tail pressed to
bark. Leans back and hammers . . . crested head a blur. No concussion here.
A spongy cranium (*cancellous* bone), a shock-absorber at the upper
mandible base, consumes the blow. A slightly longer lower mandible strikes
wood first, directing the force of each blow to another spongy bone (*hyoid*),
which anchors the elastic tongue.

Humans evolved to pound with feet, to run almost forever. Woodpeckers with
jackhammer bills. End result: everybody gets a good night's sleep.