Sunset
tonight, with the wild winds gusting through the ravines - trees creaking ; the
spring cleaning of dead leaves and weakened branches.
Burgundy Trillium up all across the woods, and about to sing.
Bee Balm erupting in tiny velvet sprouts, as we all relish the Daffodil and Pansy, and
soon, Tulip.
The Carolina Wren couple made a play for the Phoebe couple's nest site, an annual moss-woven nest protected beneath the roof, atop the outside light - and failed.
The first Bluebird showed up, just glisteningly glorious, as new moths and more than a few overwintered Monarch caterpillars are unfurling their furred selves, and crawling out into the sun.
As two pairs of Great Blue Herons fly gracefully overhead.
While a client today described the sighting of a Northampton Heron Rookery!
Later, I stroll into the garden, to press wood into the base of the winter-buffeted arch, hanging out the small brass bell , to toll its clear chime with each gust of breeze.
I then fill the bird bath with crystal clear
water. And lean down to pull an exuberant Sorrel leaf, walking away as I savor the
blood enriching tang that turns my mouth and mind alive and awake to the arrival of spring.
As the fallen Maple florets flutter in the wind, filling the air and then covering the ground with the minute flowers, now done with their task, drying upon the earth.
In preparation for the true emergence
of baby-tender, brightest green, first of all, leaves.
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