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Wednesday, 10 February 2010
37 Days Until Spring
It's February. The shortest month. Taps are in my neighbor's maple trees but the sap is not flowing.
Cold weather, overcast days. And snow. The north wind doth blow and we certainly have snow.
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The robins are back, poor things. I first saw them on January 20th, dining on callicarpa berries.
Somewhat early I thought. Jerry had seen them even earlier, feasting on his pyracantha's berries.
Today's heavy wet snow did not deter them. Hungry birds must feed. The berries on field cedar,
Juniperus virginiana, are preferred food for robins and other birds such as cedar waxwings,
bluebirds, evening and pine grosbeaks, and purple finches. Dioecious, only female trees bear fruit.
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Snow piles up in the woods. Tree trunks are splattered with gobs of white. Branches limned with snow.
Black water. The creek flows silently between snow-covered banks.
I'm hesitant about trying to cross on the big bridge. Many a slip
twixt one step and the next when snow conceals the icy footing.
The snow gauge marks accumulations.
Each tiny flake multitudinous in aggregate.
Snow and no snow. A cut-and-turned tire becomes an elegant form, transient as Andy Goldsworthy's art.
Still air. falling snow. What is empty becomes filled as snow
delicately embellishes the voids of the compost heap's fencing.
Sere and serene, the dry stalks of Northern sea oats
are a reduction of summer's lush growth.
A haiku statement that reveals more by showing less.
Ah well. Until Spring officially arrives on March 20th this can be a welcome sight growling down the road.