Tuesday, April 19, 2022

And so it goes...

And so it goes... the established routines of staying home and doing things like baking, laundry, gardening and yard work, taking long rambles with Beau in early morning before our favorite haunts are tenanted by unleashed dogs and their thoughtless owners, by sleepy walkers, bemused gawkers and weekend warriors.

Nights are still cold here, but early mornings are perfect for wandering, and we seldom encounter anyone else on our rambles. In the overstory, grosbeaks start their day with a song, and woodpeckers tap-tap-tap on nearby trees. Geese fly overhead between the river and farm fields, now and then, a solitary heron, a bittern or a great northern diver (loon) in graceful flight. This morning, a cormorant flew over our heads on its way north.

Seen through the trees, the flickering sunlight is grand “stuff”, and it has a warm, buttery, quality. Greenery is coming up everywhere through last autumn's fallen leaves, and there are delicate ferns and budding trout lilies near the creek, trillium leaves (white and red), sprigs of hepatica, striped claytonia and tiny wild hyacinths. When we pass her grove, I greet the Beech Mother and give her a pat. I'd give her a hug, but she is a grand old tree and my arms are not long enough to go all the way around her.

Beau and I go slowly along together, and the light is a shawl on our shoulders, one woven by the Old Wild Mother in shades of green and gold. There is so much to see in the woods and fields right now―it is a wonder we ever get anywhere at all.


Blondi Blathers said...

Sounds to me like a perfectly lovely, perfect morning.
It's snowing again here today.
I saw the first redtailed hawk yesterday, returned from southern climes.

Tabor said...

Okay. Time for you to put many of these into a book (diary?) and make sure they are saved for centuries.