Tag Archives: crocuses

FOR THE FIRST TIME

DSCF4123For the first time this year                                                                                                                              I dragged out the old blanket and spread it on the grass.                                                                  Dozed with my head on my arm,                                                                                                                 the sun warm enough to make me shed a layer.                                                                                   Oh boy my soul needed that sweet touch.                                                                                           And I dozed to the buzzing of bees                                                                                                              in the gold and purple crocuses.

At dusk I stood on the lawn and felt                                                                                                         air move against my skin.                                                                                                                               Not the numbing cold                                                                                                                                    that freezes tears in your eyes.                                                                                                                    But an air scented with earth.

My son pointed out the sliver of waxing moon                                                                                          hanging between silhouetted tree branches,                                                                                             delicate as lace mantillas.

The moon siren,                                                                                                                                           and the faint pulse coursing through the soil                                                                                             seduced the tree frogs out of hiding                                                                                                            to call in lusty peeps                                                                                                                                      from the unfrozen pond.

And now, against the darkness of a spring night                                                                                     A moth drives it’s wings against my window                                                                                             Oh so eager to step inside and make mad                                                                                                  passionate love to my lamp.

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SIGNS OF SPRING

IMG_8134A sure sign of spring—the kids are going crazy. Notes home from the teacher about rambunctious behavior. And no wonder, they haven’t had an outdoor recess in months!

To combat the stir crazies, I took my little fella out to tramp through the woods over the snowpack, joining the dots of deer and fox tracks. He scrambled over, and jumped off downed tree-trunks to his little heart’s content. I noticed the ever-increasing rings of melted snow at the base of trees. Squirrels chased each other round and round the trunk of the giant black walnut. A flash of ginger fur at the corner of my eye was a chipmunk scampering down the old stone wall. The red cardinal perched amongst the brown, yet swelling buds of the forsythia bush, laying claim to his territory. His no less stylish, yet more subdued partner was close by. The Carolina wren scolded from the dogwood. And the darling nuthatches, cheeped softly to each other as they, scampered, headfirst down the trunk.

The other evening as I stood on the lawn watching a silvery sunset, a pair of Canada geese honked from the pond. Not two feet from me a half-awake possum snuffled here and there amongst dried grasses poking out of the snow. He reminded me of a drunk old fella on his way home from the pub.

When I got up this morning the air was ripe with skunk love. An ardent suitor had left his calling card in the night. Perhaps it was the same stylish black and white mop top I’d had to brake for coming home the other night. He was oblivious to my presence, so hot was he on the scent of his ladylove.

Other dozy animals have not been so lucky. The turkey vultures circle over sad heaps of roadkill. So far I’ve counted raccoon, rabbit, groundhog, and squirrel. Time to look up some spring woodland recipes!

The tips of the young willow trees have turned amazing mustard yellow. The silver pussy willows are swelling out of their hard casings. At the edge of the village the sap buckets are hung on the maple trees.

Yes, everything’s still blanketed with snow, but yesterday the first crocuses opened their faces to the sun. The bees can’t be far behind.

Bee! I’m expecting you!
By Emily Dickinson

Bee! I’m expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due—

The Frogs got Home last Week—
Are settled, and at work—
Birds, mostly back—
The Clover warm and thick—

You’ll get my Letter by
The seventeenth; Reply
Or better, be with me—
Yours, Fly.

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Just a Hint of Spring

Hysterical chickens squawk from the neighbors yard.
They couldn’t be more chuffed
At having laid the first eggs of the year.
A rivulet of ice-melt
Gushes from the broken gutter—
Add that to the list of post winter chores:
Cut back the dried grasses,
Rake out the flowerbeds,
Push frost-heaved garlic back into the cold earth,
Pull handfuls of chickweed from around the crocuses,
Sit in a patch of early sunlight with just a hint of warmth.

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