Blush of Spring

It always starts with the Spring Peepers. Some years those small frogs begin announcing the passing of winter timidly, one or two at a time, tuning up for early rehearsals. But a week ago, when the last patches of snow lay scattered on the ground, a full chorus of peepers started singing simultaneously from the pond, as if they had been practicing in secret for that day.

The cardinals heard it, and the next morning one male started his cadence while it was still dark, "wet, wet, wet, wet" over and over, staking out his territory. As dawn broke, the air became saturated with bird song, sounding glorious after a quiet winter. 

Deer have been browsing on new tufts of clover that sprung up overnight, and Harbinger of Spring and Bluet, those diminutive wildflowers, carpet the ground. Overhead, geese are winging their way back north.

Soft showers fell all day yesterday and on through the night, stimulating a green blush from the fields and lawns.

Springtime comes again, new every year, yet ancient, from the hand of the One who made all creatures, and, with the others, we lift a song of gratitude.

  

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you,

    or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you;

or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,

    or let the fish in the sea inform you.

Which of all these does not know

    that the hand of the Lord has done this?

In his hand is the life of every creature

    and the breath of all mankind.

Job 12:7-10

Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime;

it is the Lord who makes the storm clouds.

He gives showers of rain to men,

and plants of the field to everyone.

Zechariah 10:1

Linking with Saturday's Critters

Country Music

It's only February, and already, the air is filled with music.

Flocks of robins have been here for over a week now. 

 They settle on the birdbaths  in the mornings...

...and perch on the supplejack.

  The trees and sky overhead are alive with their flights.

Winterberry trees, above the edges of the lake,
have been almost stripped of their shiny red berries,
and in the woods, the cedar berries are nearly gone.

In exchange for this food, these birds enrich everyone's lives with their melodies.

Robins aren't the only birds singing just now, but I think they started it,
and the others have been emboldened by their example.

At night, coyotes sing a varied repertoire.
Soon, the screech owls will join them with their eerie music,
as they search for their mates.

Last night, as I walked toward the pond, I heard a solo peep from a spring peeper,
one of those small vocal tree frogs, and then an unmistakeable trill.
A second frog backed up the virtuoso, and then another joined in,
before the full chorus saturated the night air.

When I first moved to this quiet place from the city, I thought I would miss the concerts.

Little did I know.




Linking with
Wild Bird Wednesday.

Unexpected Virus

Spring peepers were singing in the pond last night, rushing the season.  Earlier in the day, Barley and I relaxed for a few minutes under an impossibly blue sky.  With sun-warmed hair and faces, we lingered, soaking in every little milligram of vitamin D possible.

A gust of wind swirled around the house, carrying with it an unexpected virus, spring fever, 49 days early.  We'll take it.



By way of contrast, if you'd like to see a year ago, click here.