There are few more pleasant ways to spend an early Sunday morning in mid-July than sitting on the rocks atop Noanet Peak gazing over the woods and listening to the birdsong. Hermit thrush and wood pewee and scarlet tanager songs and not one but two ruby-throated hummingbird fly-bys while I was resting there.
One tanager (not in his best plumage, unfortunately) was singing at just about eye-level, blood-red in the morning sun.
On the way down the hill, I ran across this young raccoon.
It was looking for an escape route and headed down a narrow branch. I hadn't realized raccoons could be quite so clumsy.