A few days ago it was ice. Yesterday it was spring. Today we’re expecting more cold and maybe snow. Never boring around here.
In the meantime I’ve finished redrafting a long story, plotted a new picture book in my head (while attending a funeral), finished a new poem, and received encouraging news about a book that’s been making the rounds for some time.
The lake has thawed. Still cold by my standards, but not so for the outdoor dwellers. Yesterday the sun was out and birds were at our feeder for the first time in a while. They came in pairs: cardinals, sparrows, robins, titmice.
In our neighbors’ yard a pair of Canadian geese wandered away from several dozen others grazing in the grass so recently hidden by snow. As I watched from my window I felt sure they were a settled pair answering a call to be alone.
It isn’t mating season yet, exactly. But neither is it planting season just because we feel an urge to get out the seed catalog. I think the geese were anticipating a moment coming soon when their genes will tell them its time. Just as the birds at the feeder are meeting up with their old mates, just as in a matter of weeks the population of Goose Lake will explode with new energy, new life, new adventures to usher in spring, I’m settling in to enjoy the show. I always do.
Goose Lake, Wind Chill -11
Blue sky deceives.
Birds hide under wings.
pauses on roof,
looking for somewhere
Ice, gray-faced, deranged,
waits for the opportunity
(c) 2018 David L. Harrison all rights reserved
Yesterday Goose Lake surprised us again. For the first time ever we were treated to mysterious round openings in the ice. Eyes? Sores? Breathing holes? Alien landings?
Anyone want to address this phenomenon poetically?