Rough birds fit this field, starlings and crows, their blue-black wings against the sheen of the week-old snow and the metallic stubble of corn. The sun behind a squirrel’s nest, an eclipse unnoticed in the rest of the world, sends no one into panic, an omen of nothing to come. Observe one gray displace another. This day in history a mouse was caught in a drainage ditch, you hurt your arm, at night the stars came out.