Stone Mountain: Late May

 The clouds were on the mountain, whisps of gray blending into the stone face. The mountaintop was hiding.

The forest below was dark and loud. Dark because the sky was low and the canopy is now dense. If you were taking photographs, you’d have to use a flash. Loud because every rivulet, run, creek and stream was singing.

I’m not sure the Big Dog was ever out of earshot of running water. When he was a puppy, Gunter, a German shepherd, decided that running water was running amok — it was something that needed to be herded and nipped into better behavior. He’s 8 now, between mature and old, and still chastising running water. He reminds me of Xerxes, who ordered his soldiers to whip the waters of the Hellespont.

We also heard, but never saw, a pileated woodpecker. Their calls are unmistakable.

One of the sounds we didn’t hear was the barking of squirrels. The Georgia Piedmont is wonderful habitat for squirrels, and when I finally noticed the absence of squirrel racket I wondered when we’d see a raptor.

The answer: Almost immediately.

It flashed by on a slalom through the trees, so I didn’t get a good look. I’d guess it was a Cooper’s hawk.