I saw crows carrying nesting material yesterday. I stood and watched them to see if I could tell where they were headed with it. One squawk from a crow overhead, who was standing guard, had these two nest builders immediately fly in opposite directions of each other and the direction they were initially taking. Nest building is, after all, top secret.
I continued to stand and just look up, something I learned to do when Jim was sick. To take that few minutes of quiet time and look up. Yesterday I saw that the Marsh Maples have buds now, bright red and swelling with the sap that has ascended up to them. The first tree to flower in spring, offering the much needed nectar to the emerging honey bees. The birches are not far behind, their tops are turning yellow, soon to flower as well.
Our streams are swollen and flowing free from the encasement of ice. This happens so fast, just a few days of temperatures above freezing and suddenly there are mini-waterfalls at every bend and twist of the flow. What was a muted gurgling of flowing water under ice is now a roar as these small streams flood over their banks and create rooster tails with the volume of water hitting the rocks and trees within the path.
The birds are singing, so I'm told. My hearing is so impaired I can no longer hear the song birds, only the more raucous Corvids or the "cuk, cuk" of the Pileated Woodpecker defending his territory. So much activity up above with the eternal preparations needed for the reproducing and continuation of the species. Soon the spring Peepers will begin their chirping. I know Dave will tell me when he hears them and I will stand, silent and straining as I try to hear one of my all time favorite songs. But, only the memory of what this sound was will flow over me since the peeping is a high pitch, a range that I have lost.
I'm watching for the return of the Woodcocks to these fields, having promised my nieces that I will take my grandnieces and nephew "woodcocking" when the time comes. A truly fun spring ritual to be done at the crepuscular evening hour when the male Woodcock does his comical flight and dance routine in hopes of attracting a female to mate, but instead gets giggling first graders who hide in the bushes with me.
Spring has arrived in the mountains. Folks up here have a harder time of letting go of winter; letting go of their cold weather activities. But the snow is melting and there is now more bare ground than there is snow cover. We are entering mud season with over-saturated land that nurtures the tiny bulbs of the crocus and daffodil that have yet to emerge.
As the transition of winter to spring blossoms all around me I find myself facing new professional challenges. It's fitting that the big changes in ones life should begin to unfold at the change of this season. As the winter lets go of it's icy grip on this land and the buds swell and the promise of flowers hang from above, I have the budding of, yet another, new path to take. Transitions can be difficult, but they can be exciting too. Just as we trust that the Woodcocks and other species will return with the sun I am reminded to trust in the Universal energy as well. To trust that there is a path laid before me, like the unseen migratory track that birds follow, my path appears unseen but I trust it is there all the same. Trusting that this new endeavor will blossom into the perfect fit for me. Spring is about emerging from the dark and the rebirth of all that is ....
.... and thus, this timing is perfect for me.
Loving you all back,