Homecoming

First come jubilant skeins of of geese flying in from the south and singing their return, then ducks splashing about in the melted alcoves of local rivers and streams. There is a lot of happy quacking in roadside ditches and puddles.

A single heron perches on the frozen shore of Dalhousie Lake and wonders why on earth she has come home so early in the season. Trumpeter swans and loons will not return for weeks, until there is more open water.

On the Two Hundred Acre Wood, there are larks and killdeer, beaky snipe and woodcock, a handful of plucky robins, the graceful "v" shapes (dihedrals) of turkey vultures soaring majestically over the trees and rocks and rocking effortlessly back and forth in their flight. From below, the light catches their silvery flight feathers and dark wing linings, and the great birds are as magnificent as any eagle.

A solitary goshawk perches in a bare tree on the hill, and a male harrier describes perfect, languid circles over the western field. Both birds are hungry after their long journey north, and they train their fierce yellow eyes on the artfully frosted field below, always on the lookout for a good meal.

This morning, a male cardinal is singing his heart out in the ash tree in the garden, and an unidentified warbler lifts its voice somewhere in the darkness.

Even the weather foretold for this day will be a friend.

Happy April, everyone! 

Songs of Homecoming

First come jubilant skeins of of geese flying in from the south and singing their return before alighting in fields and parks, ducks splashing about in the melted alcoves of local rivers, much exuberant quacking in roadside puddles and ditches. A solitary heron perches hopefully in the reeds along the shore of the still frozen lake, and she wonders why on earth she has come home so early in the season. Trumpeter swans and loons won't return until there is more open water for them to paddle around in.

Then, there are larks and killdeer, beaky snipe and woodcock, a handful of plucky robins, the graceful "v" shapes (dihedrals) of turkey vultures soaring majestically over the Two Hundred Acre Wood and rocking effortlessly back and forth in their flight. From below, the light catches their silvery flight feathers and dark wing linings, and the great birds are as magnificent as any eagle.

A goshawk is sitting in a bare tree on the hill, and a harrier describes perfect, languid circles over the western field. Both are hungry after their long journey north, and they train their fierce yellow eyes on the field below, on the lookout for a good meal.

This morning, a cardinal is singing his heart out in the ash tree in the garden, and an unidentified warbler lifts its voice somewhere in the darkness. 

Even the cold weather foretold for this day will be a friend.

Homecoming

There is certainly not much for them to eat right now, but the first flocks of Canada geese (Branta canadensis) have arrived and taken up residence in soggy, windswept (and mostly still frozen) farm fields and along local waterways.

At sunset this week, the long "v" shapes of returning skeins trailed across the sky, one after another, magnificently silhouetted against the setting sun and drifting clouds. The skeins were high up and obviously coming from a great distance, but their homecoming songs could be heard clearly.

After dark, skies have been clear for the most part this week, and the moon is waning, close to full. Conditions for night flying are perfect, and the canny geese are taking advantage of the situation. The first thing Beau and I hear in the morning when we open our eyes before sunrise is joyous honking overhead, and it is music to our ears.

There is still cold weather ahead of us and many frosts, but it doesn't matter a fig or a twitter or a honk or a hoot - the great geese are coming home, and warmer, brighter times are on the way. So long to my empty nest syndrome, general grumpiness, restlessness and seasonal doldrums. The kids are back, hallelujah. Now where are my gardening catalogues? 

The image is from a few years ago, but it remains my favorite migration scene, a skein of returning geese silhouetted against clouds and setting sun. You can't hear it of course, but their song that evening was joyous, almost symphonic, and it made my heart glad. For all the hurt we do to Mother Earth, She still grants us moments like these.