And so they begin... our routines of staying home and doing homely things like gardening, yard work and baking, of 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 cool here, but early mornings are perfect for wandering about, 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 local farm fields, now and then, a solitary heron, a bittern or a great northern diver (loon) in graceful flight. This morning, a single cormorant flew over our heads on its way to its summer lodgings.
Seen through the trees, the early flickering sunlight is grand “stuff”, and it has a buttery, caressing quality. Greenery is coming up everywhere through last autumn's fallen leaves, delicate ferns and blooming trout lilies near the creek, budding trilliums, the leaves of hepatica, wild columbines and tiny wild hyacinths. When we pass through her grove, I greet the Beech Mother and give her a pat. I'd give her a hug, but she is an old tree and my arms are not long enough to do that.
Beau and I go slowly along together, and the light is a shawl on our shoulders, a wrapper woven by the Old Wild Mother in shades of green and gold. There so many treasures to be seen in the woods―it is a wonder we ever get anywhere at all.
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