6:31 a.m. (sunrise two minutes earlier than yesterday, creeping toward the solstice). 39 degrees, wind ESE 3 mph (and damp). Sky: in the east, crow cracks open the day, silhouetted against rose-flushed clouds, neon bright, that fade into peach striations in the south. Silver three-quarter moon presides in the west, against a background of blue and white and the vague suggestion of lemon. Permanent streams: snowmelt diminished, fed chiefly by groundwater churning, surging, spurting, sluicing, spilling over rocks and branches, sweeping away woodland detritus. Leashes in hand, dogs at my feet, I bathe in the immutable fluency of running water. Wetlands: ten ducks on the main channel, three drake woodies and a hen, three pairs of mallards, the only green in an expanse of tan. Everybody tipping and feeding. Mallards quack, the duck template. Wood ducks quack, a soft but piercing scream, like a hawk with the amplifier turned down. Pond: the purification of ice.
Grouse drumming, a full-body experience. Pileated, resident laugher of the hemlocks, finds something amusing, heaves voice into the morning. A cacophony of robins, singing and scolding. Three phoebes, first appearance. Songs, harsh and abrupt, like clearing your throat after a long night. Early spring ensemble: chickadees, titmice, both nuthatches, song sparrows, juncos. Little woodpeckers on sabbatical, avoid front-yard suet. Ravens at the nest. Crows building theirs.
On the spring threshold: a cold morning, a lengthening day, a rutted road, bird feeder flattened by a bear. Gorgeous, thought-provoking sunrise; the evanescence of a jealous moon. A peeper peeping, a dog tick imbibing (fixed to my triceps), crocus blooming in the dooryard. The Hollow smiles, then a seductive wink, the step-by-step progression of the seasons, predictably unpredictable, the consistency of change, eternal transitions . . . obediently, I open the barn open to phoebes and little brown bats.
A perfect transition to April, "predictably unpredictable". Here in Chelsea MI, 35 degrees today with a jump to the 60's on Sunday. 22 mph wind made the trees sing yesterday. Spring--time of transitions, and a gathering at a friend's pergola this Saturday --all vaccinated, still distanced and outside--but the for first time, without masks. The thought of seeing their smiles after a year feels magical!
Saturday sounds like fun. Today is end of the second week since my booster shot. Yipee.