Returning, Little By Little

Winter Has another Go

Here we are again!

Fey Dreams and Eldritch Musics

Dancing in this elderly sconce are nighttime dreams of sunlight, warmth, birdsong and green things emerging from the earth. When I am awake, an eldritch music hovers on the edge of my hearing, a fey tune scarcely more than an echo in the wind.

Reed pipes perhaps or a harp? Rose-breasted grosbeaks? The horns of elfland? Bare naked satyrs prancing about in the woods with flutes? The whole thing may be just wishful thinking on my part. I am always restless in March and raring to go, impatient to be putting on my wellies and picking up my gardening tools.

When Beau and I are out on our walks, we listen for geese coming home. We have not heard them so far, but there will be rejoicing when we do. Wherever we are and whatever we are doing at the time, we will kick up our heels and dance. 

Wild magics are afoot in this season of emergence and rebirth and greening. There is magic in the sky over our heads, in the awakening trees in the sunny woods. There is magic in my garden, and I am here to take it all in again this year. Hallelujah.

Sequestered, Week 290(CCLX)

Hallelujah, They're Back!

Winter's Return, Hopefully Brief

Little By Little, Returning

And so the dance begins, a pair of geese, not a skein or a flock or a "v", just two magnificent Canadas paddling in a pool of melted river in the sunlight. It continues with a Sharp-shinned Hawk etching wide circles in the sky over the same stretch of river and emitting a short, sharp, joyous cry now and then.

A drowsy groundhog perches on a fence post near the gate of the Two Hundred Acre Wood and looks around in disbelief. No doubt he (or she) is considering returning to the den and going back to sleep. There is bark and twiggy stuff to dine on, but only a few withered berries remain from last year, and it will be a while before dandelions and coltsfoot, their favorite spring nosh, appear. As for timothy, alfalfa and clover, it will be some time before such tender, juicy forages are up and "munchable". 

In a nearby spinney, three glossy deer (young bucks) shuffle their feet and drink in the morning, their breath sending up clouds of steam in the cold air. Only a few feet away, several young male turkeys (jakes) strut their stuff and proclaim their superiority, gobbling at each other, puffing up their feathers, spreading their tails and dragging their wings. Their antics are absolutely hilarious.

The brood of young great horned owls being raised in the old oak tree a mile back in the woods is already half grown, and their attentive parents look both proud and haggard. Feeding young "hornies" is hard work.

In spite of the cold and the wind, it appears that springtime is on its way at last. 

April Return

Many local farm fields are still covered in snow, and there is not much for returning birds to eat here, but Canada geese (Branta canadensis) have arrived and taken up residence in soggy, windswept fields and along open waterways.

At sunset this week, the long "v" shapes of returning skeins trailed across the sky, one after another, the birds silhouetted against the setting sun and drifting clouds. Their homecoming songs could be heard for quite a distance. For the most part, skies here have been clear after dark, and the moon is only a day or two away from full so conditions for night flying have been perfect. As I drift off to sleep, I can hear geese passing over the house, and when I open my eyes in the morning before dawn, the first thing I hear is exuberant honking. The songs gladden my heart.

I am just so darned glad the birds are back. It is rather cold here, and there is still a lot of snow about, but it doesn't matter a fig or a twitter or a honk or a hoot. The great geese are home, and warmer, brighter times are on their way.

And So It Begins...

A skein of northern Canadas passes overhead, the birds high against the clouds and calling their return. Below, two magnificent specimens, a mated pair, are paddling serenely about in a sunlit pool of melted river, and an osprey describes wide circles in the sky over them, emitting a short, sharp, cry now and then. In the shaded hollows on the shore, a woodcock probes the moist earth for early worms. Robins have been back for a week or so, and crows are already building a nest in the big white pine.

A single drowsy groundhog perches on a fence post in the western field and looks about in disbelief. No doubt he (or she) is appalled by the deep snow all around and is considering going back to sleep for several weeks. There should have been grass showing by now, a LOT of grass. What on earth are the geese going to eat?

In a nearby spinney, three glossy deer shuffle their feet and drink in the morning, their breath sending up clouds of steam in the cold air. Only a few feet away, several young male turkeys (jakes) strut their stuff and proclaim their superiority, puffing up their feathers, spreading their tails and dragging their wings.

The sunlight is warm on these old bones, and Beau is happy that cottontails have returned to the snow drowned garden. At last, there is a little warmth out there, and he has something to point.

Wordless Wednesday - Ready for Rain

Rain and Robins Returning

Skies are cloudy, and outside the windows a gentle rain is falling. Beau and I are doing tea and listening to the clumps of snow falling off the rooflines of nearby houses, raindrops hitting the peaked roof of the garden shed in a fine staccato rhythm. The precipitation motifs of two seasons are rolled into one this soggy morning.

Mr. B. does not like wet weather and getting his feet wet, and he is curled up in a corner of the sofa, grumbling. He does, however, appreciate a fine puddle, and there is a lagoon in the street deep enough and wide enough for him to swim around in circles. That will cheer him up immensely when we go out to check the mailbox for bumph.

A murmuration of starlings is hanging out in the cedar hedge, and the puckish avians are pretending they are something else entirely, cardinals, robins, house finches, song sparrows. What is wrong with just being a starling? Robins have begun to return, and they have been visiting the garden this week. One is perched high in the old ash, singing his pleasure in the morning and the wet stuff.

Time to think about a new wreath for the door, perhaps something with sprigs of pussy willow and eggs in pastel colours (fake of course). A small ritual gesture is called for.

Homecoming Robin

Hallelujah, They're Back

Winter Returns

Hallelujah, they're back!

The Homecoming

First come jubilant skeins of of geese flying in from the south and singing their return, ducks splashing about in the melted alcoves of local rivers, much quacking in roadside 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 have more sense, and they will not return for several weeks, until there is much more open water.

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 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 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.

Wordless Wednesday - Return

Little by little by little returning...

And so the dance begins. It began with a pair of geese, not a skein or a flock or a "v", just two magnificent Canadas paddling in a pool of melted river in the sunlight. It continued with a Sharp-shinned Hawk etching wide circles in the sky over the same stretch of river and emitting a short, sharp, joyous cry now and then.

A single drowsy groundhog was perched on a fence post in the western field and looking about in disbelief. No doubt he (or she) was appalled by the deep snow all around and considering going back to sleep for several weeks. There should have been grass showing by now.

In a nearby spinney, three glossy deer shuffled their feet and drank in the morning, their breath sending up clouds of steam in the cold air. Only a few feet away, several young male turkeys strutted their stuff and proclaimed their superiority, puffing up their feathers, spreading their tails and dragging their wings.

Return Engagement

Countering Winter's Return