Shadows

Monday was Groundhog's Day, and the weather here was balmy and beautiful. The woodchuck could certainly have seen his shadow, had he been up, but unlike those people in Punxsutawney, we chose to let him sleep.

There are plenty of other creatures around here who are awake already. The Flicker, wearing a heart on her back, cast a shadow, but she was more interested in the dogwood berries she was mining from the grass. Yum!

The day was sunny enough; the red squirrel would have noticed her shadow if she'd been looking in the right direction, but looking for nuts and watching her back were far more important.

It's a silly tradition, after all, one we've heard since grade school, that if a groundhog sees its shadow that day, there will be six more weeks of winter. But it speaks to our longing for spring, and the warmth and light that come with it. I have a bit of a conflict this year, because the only snow we've seen so far sprinkled over the ground like powdered sugar on a Weight Watcher's cake. And I love snow.

Snowdrops are blooming, and those small white blossoms are always a welcome sight, reminding us that no matter how long it takes for spring to get here, it will surely arrive. They call to mind the promise God made long ago:

As long as the earth endures,

seedtime and harvest, 

cold and heat,

summer and winter,

day and night

will never cease.

Genesis 8:22

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Saturday's Critters

Irresistible

In the chill of late February, on our patch of Ozark land, 

the only things that appear to be blooming are a few delicate snowdrops.

Saturday's sunshine pried open the petals.

Was it the fragrance, wafting on the breeze, that woke the slumbering honeybees?

Hovering honeybees

find a snowdrop's siren song

irresistible.

How many are your works, O Lord!

In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.

All creatures look to you to give them their food at the proper time.

When you give it to them, they gather it up;

when you open you hand,

they are satisfied with good things.

Psalm 104:24, 27, 28




Linking with Weekly Top Shot
and Our World Tuesday

Promise

Outside yesterday, after a stretch of ice and bitter cold, a little green caught my eye.  

I moved some dead leaves, and there, sure enough, 

a few snowdrops were pushing out of the soil.

It reminded me that even in the deepest cold, spring is getting ready.

There's an ancient promise God made to Noah:

As long as the earth endures,

seedtime and harvest,

cold and heat,

summer and winter,

day and night will never cease.

Genesis 8:22

The bluebirds seem to know this.  

They were in the birdbath, lifting their heads in praise with every swallow.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday
Little Things Thursday

Hope of Spring

We've had an extra dose of winter this year, and people around here, myself included, are eager for any sign of spring.  The return of the red-winged blackbird is often a predictor of the season.  On most years, one day in the early spring, we'll hear a trill from the top of a tree, and see the flash of brilliant red wing patches against jet black feathers, and know that we'll be enjoying the company of the red-wing for several months.  Last week, when snow blanketed the ground and the lake still wore its icy fringe, there was one mingling with the local birds at the bird feeder, and eating sunflower seeds, just as if he belonged here.  They may be better weather predictors than the much touted groundhogs.  This week has been beautiful and mild, and it feels like spring is just over the next hill.

Bluebirds, too, are pointing toward spring.  They are the first birds to nest here each year, and last week they were out checking on the available birdhouses.  With those hopeful signs, I went looking this morning for a Harbinger of Spring, those tiny white wild flowers that are the first to bloom in the spring, and are ubiquitous throughout the season.  I didn't find one in any of the usual spots, but I did find a small patch of snow drops already up and blooming, their heads bowed in morning prayer.  The poet Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote,

O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

If Percy had lived in the Ozarks, he might have added a corollary:

O Spring,

if Blackbirds come, can Harbingers be far behind?