There are signs all around. They present themselves as bits and pieces of spring. The cheerful tweet of robins looking for this year’s nesting spot. The mating mallards on the Cutoff pond. The far-off calling of Sandhill Cranes, their rolling gurgle a primal song, the cranes, themselves, mere specks of dust in the sky as they wend their way north to nesting grounds.
This morning, a loud sign, the sound of a changing season, as city crews made their rounds, the first of this year, chipping fallen branches left out on the curb.
Homeward bound, I spied a Cooper’s hawk swooping low and drifting into the wetlands of the Wolf Road Prairie; predator and prey maintaining nature’s balance.
A tentative rearranging of coats and closets has begun. Tentative in this neck of this woods because temperatures still fluctuate frenetically, snow is not unheard of this late, gloves and heavy socks are still gainfully employed. Still-in-all, there is an almost imperceptible greening going on. The sun feels warmer. The days are longer. The tips of trees are swollen with the hint of buds to be . . .
. . . and guess who was recently found napping on an arbor seat as if he did not have a care in the world? Midnight. the wandering neighborhood cat, who stopped by for an impromptu visit.
(I am experiencing some technical difficulties, unable to connect links, add more than one photo, and a few other teeth gnashing tasks, so, dear friends, I will leave this post as it is, and call it a day, with hopes that all is well in your part of world, as you, too, change seasons. Penny)
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