The ODF&G lists ten species of shrew found in Oregon, but no photos. It might be Trowbridge’s shrew (Sorex trowbridgii), first described in 1857, though it does not resemble the dead shrew in the Wikipedia entry.
Yesterday we spotted a shrew and I followed it about for a couple of minutes, trying to capture photos of its tiny face. This was a small critter, just over an inch across, and it poked its head into the grass repeatedly, upending itself into little depressions and then moving on, apparently looking for shelter. Shrews often use holes dug by others such as moles. (So do salamanders.)
Shrews have a bad reputation, and though I find them sweet, I am careful not to antagonize them. The last one I saw close up was a round ball carried to my feet by our gray cat Zora. It looked like a fat black cherry in her mouth, and she did not intend it as a gift. She fairly spit it out onto the grass. It unrolled itself and rustled across the moss and between blades of grass struggling to be a lawn. Zora glanced down when it made a six-inch dash, but then lost interest. That shrew got away.
Those who predict say the summer will be dry this summer. An early burn ban. Trees and entire unwatered gardens drooping. Just now a gull landed on the roof, that tide came in high last night. I heard the drizzle as I dozed, reluctant to get out of bed. I slept past five, a good night for me, but our walk will be postponed. It is a luxury to choose the time of day for our walk.
May is a muddled month. Typically, the weather runs from cool and wet to heat. This fools us each time into believing summer has arrived. June will change all that. Reliable summer arrives in July. I know this. Weeks past the solstice, it will be dry.
IMPERFECT PATIENCE 