marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,

winter to spring

The gray clouds lay across the sky in waves, rising and sinking, and cross-wise, a spread of ripples, like a breeze blowing over ocean swells. Then my route turns and the clouds look like a mass of intricate hills.

By night, the apple tree is a dark silhouette outlined in brilliant white after the freezing rain

In the morning, the skies are a lovely dove-gray in curving clouds, but the scene below is dreary for all the ice. Then the sun breaks out and it shines like diamonds.

The birds are all atwitter on branches and rooftops as the air warms. (Here, if the groundhog sees his shadow it's six more weeks of winter -- and if not, forty-two more days -- but this year it actually seems to be springing. Albeit with an icestorm.)

The stream is very full, bank to bank, hiding all the stones, which looks odd when I reach the dam, where a thin veil of water goes over the top and at one point a spout of water goes out -- it looks far too little to fill up the stream so. The lake behind has only a thin skin of ice, and visible out near the other side is the open water, the ripples and waves aglitter in the sunlight.

There is a scrap of wispy white against the blue sky: the gibbous moon, hanging in white and blue. It does not take much darkening of the sky for the moon to become more distinctly the moon, though only when it is rich, deep blue do the darker parts shift toward gray and no longer match it.

You can not see a feather, but the evergreen tree is laden with cheeping and twittering and even trilling birds.

In the evening gloom, fog everywhere, the trees are stark and black against the lapping gray waters. Fog too thick for me to see if the ice still clung to the shore, out where the current did not fight it.

The flock flits and flits about the leafless trees. So many birds, silhouetted dark against the sky, that even with birds always in flight, so many more are perched until it seems that every dark branch has its dark bird sitting upright on it.

In the evening gloom, a deer nibbles on the grass between the patches of snow; it looks very like a dog.

The sky is cloudy, and on the lake's silvery reflections, the ducks bobbed on the ripples, dark flecks in the morning light.

A vast skein of geese flitting through the sky, forming Vs that crisscross and link up.

A balmy day, and the rock-cuts on the highway are heavy with ice, often so thick that it's turning blue. (Then, it's melt-water frozen again.)

Spring has sprung. Pansies for sale and now sitting in the garden, flowering among the green sprouts. (It was a shock to open the door and looked down and see a dozen sprouting tulips.)
Tags: nature

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