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

School's Out!

Snow fell, thick as oatmeal, filled the sky with white wonder,

and piled up on the backs of bewildered turkeys.

Afterwards, one of the night crew, a young possum, came out to find a snack.

Then he was off on a mission, undeterred by his bad hair day.

He stopped under the stone bench. 

 It seemed to be familiar territory; he had probably been here many times at night.

From the shelter of his den tree, high overhead,

a young squirrel looked on, happy that the sun was back.

Linking with Saturday's Critters

and Weekly Top Shot

Food Chain

It's cold out.

Fat snowflakes drift aimlessly to the ground.

As the flakes descend, the creature's appetites rise.

The birds can't get enough of the suet.  

This one is composed of lard and peanut butter, cornmeal, oatmeal and sunflower seeds, with a few raisins mixed in.  

Yum!

High in a tree, crows weigh their chances of getting to the food.

Wild turkeys have staked their territory over the corn on the ground, 

and when the crows try to encroach, one bold turkey keeps pushing them back.

Early in the afternoon, a regal red-shouldered hawk swooped in to check out the birds on the deck.

They scattered, and he came up empty. This time.

As he left the deck, he grabbed at the suet but couldn't get it loose.

He'll be back.

With all the creatures around him eating,
the carpendar ant on our deck doesn't even pause for a snack.

Talk about work ethic-- this guy wrote the book!



Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Dog Dreams

The dog curled on his pad tonight looks warm and content, but he's not a puppy any more. At nine years old, he's showing his age. Nine may not be all that old, but Barley has had some hard knocks, and some mornings he'd rather stay on his pad than go for our morning walk.

One thing can be counted on to transform this dog in an instant, and that's snow. We've had snow on the ground all week, and Barley can't wait to get outside. Out the door, he takes a nose dive into the white powder, rolls on to his back and rocks back and forth, feet flailing in the air in joyous abandon. He gets up, shaking himself and admiring the canine snow angel he left behind. Then he's off, racing over the ground in broad circles, his boots sending up showers of snow.

The whole process doesn't last long, but for a few minutes, flying through the snow, he's a puppy, the date on his birth certificate temporarily forgotten.

Just now, on his pad, Barley's legs move jerkily to the rhythm of his dream, and the snow flies again in his heart.





A note about his boots: on snow days, Barley used to have to stop frequently to bite away the ice that formed between the pads of his feet. The boots have solved that problem. It took him a time or two to get adjusted to them, but now he loves to see them come out of the closet.  We got them here.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot
and Saturday's Critters.