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?

Morning Hills

The sun came shimmering up through the trees on the distant horizon this morning,
white against a warm peach sky.
Beyond our house, east toward the sunrise, is a valley stretching up to distant hills,
and though the landscape is constant, the view is always changing.
Earlier this week, the trees were covered with frost, glistening with iridescent diamonds.

Sometimes the trees stand out in stark relief, outlined by fog.

At other times, the sky takes center stage, displaying its brilliant colors.

We've watched wave after wave of blackbirds fill the sky in swift migration,
or a lone vulture soar on the breeze.
A procession of seasons washes over the hills.
It lifts our thoughts to God, fills our eyes with wonder, and our hearts with gratitude.

Many, O Lord my God,

are the wonders You have done.

The things You planned for us

no on can recount to You;

were I to speak and tell of them,

they would be too many to declare.

Psalm 40:5

   

Frost

The thermometer dipped below zero overnight for the first time this winter.  Dawn revealed a landscape sparkling with frost, which drifted down from the trees and rested on the snow like glittering manna.  Every diamond-studded weed and flower displayed its splendor, and that of its Maker. 

He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes.  Psalm 147:16 

Woodpiles and Acorns

On cold winter days, we burn wood in our furnace.  Don always has at least 4 cords of wood stacked as we go into the winter.  A serious cold snap is forecasted for next week, and it appears that, for the first time, we'll go through the entire stack well before the winter's over.  So we spent some time this afternoon adding to the woodpile.  Don felled a dead tree, in exactly the right spot, and he cut it up while I dragged off the excess limbs and stacked wood.  We've been doing this for years, and it feels like good teamwork, with Don as the master woodsman, and me, the woodsman's assistant, both wearing our Danner steel-toed boots.  Next year, we'll have a bigger pile.

We weren't the only ones to be playing catch-up this winter. We don't see squirrels too often on cold snowy days like this, but there was one in the yard today, who thought that he'd put away plenty of acorns for the winter.  This morning he was plowing under the snow for acorns.

He'd emerge, white capped, to eat his acorn, before diving down for the next one.

Next year, he'll have a bigger stash.