marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,


Look with care, and you can see the swellings that are buds on the boughs of some trees.

One day the waterfall is thick ice, white and opaque billowing over the rocks, and the next it is white and opaque as the waters foam over the rocks in a precipitous fall.

On the stream, the ice looks like early winter, thin and colorless, showing the water through -- sometimes broken like plate glass -- but occasional birds trill away in the trees. The banks of snow are turning to fairy castles as the smoothness melts down to crystalline shapes -- particularly where the sand landed, so the most intricate ones are also the grubbiest. The shoots springing up; in one place, they are trying to push aside the wood chip mulch, showing green sprouts, so I pushed aside the chips to reveal the ghastly, brilliant yellow shade that sprouts when deprived of light. They'll be fine in a day or two.

Where the snow melts away from a flower bed, green sprouts are short and stout. Snow is still thick. Even out in the woods, utterly flat, far from the road and so with no snow plowed onto it, the snow still spreads.

Caw, caw, caw go great, large ravens, larger than some cats. Over the street, a great bird soars against the blue and brilliant sky, so that it is back lit into a shadow that could be either a raven or a hawk. It wheels and the sunlight glints from its back, not clearly enough to show whether that is dark brown.

Snow melts away from a stretch, and the sprouts are so green that I suspect they photosynthesized beneath translucent snow.

Across a dun brown slope, snow lies in long streaks, like roads through the trees.

I wonder, as I hurry by the flower bed, whether all the green sprouts I see are the bulbs taking advantage of the warmth and the wet, or whether the darkness about them from the rainfall brings them out. (In the evening, as I walk by, I can see even more sprouts though the ground has dried and lightened. But they could have grown today.)

A lawn like an animal pelt. Yes, one of the colors is green, but the blade come up so intermingled with the dun and the yellow that they look like a pelt with the subtle variegation in colors, visible only where you can see each strand of fur.

A tangle of trees is clamorous with bird calls, but only careful inspection makes out the forms, dark against the bright sky, and far too few visible for the clamor.

A large lake has a gap of water in the ice. As the spring progresses, slowly, slowly the water spreads, and the swans and geese that clustered where it was open spread about the waters. But today I saw another lake, smaller, and this one iced over entirely. You could see a gaggle of geese standing on it, having no fear of falling through.

How it rained! Buckets and buckets -- a vast road-side puddle is ruffled by the wind like any pond, and the seagulls are bobbing on its surface as if it were as deep as a bay.

It snows. It was, in fact, not snowing when I got up, and had not accumulated anything by the time either, but by the time I set out for work, it was enough to make driving tricky and the roads clogged. Slow driving at least let me see the trees all frosted in white, and the black shade of a rivulet of water, running in ditch between whiteness to either side.

How green the grass is growing, between the patches of swan-white snow. I suspect it's as much the water from the snowmelt as the contrast.

The brook is full and over full, with the water murky with mud and bulling their way downstream -- but not as full as it had been. Large stretches of black mud and patches where the dead rushes were pushed flat, never to straighten again, prove that the flood is subsiding.

I glanced down a slope, in a wild woods, and find that feral snowdrops have spread far and wide, white and green among the dead tan leaves.

I was having crocus envy. Yes, there were crocuses blooming purple in the sheltered nooks, but I went to church and there were crocuses in the lawn, blooming away, many in royal purple, one in pale violet, a couple in creamy shades. . . but then I was walking past my garden and saying, "Oooo -- purple back there." Not, however, a crocus -- an early iris, just unfolding its buds. Now it's in full bloom, and there's a crocus with pale violet buds -- and other crocuses that may have buds, but not clearly enough for color to be seen. They will miss out on their hour of glory, being overshadowed.
Tags: nature

  • Against Three Lands

    Against Three Lands by George Phillies Adventure and politics in another world. Particularly in the Thousand Islands, which is, culturally a mix of…

  • Pirate of the Prophecy

    Pirate of the Prophecy by Jack Campbell Empress of the Endless Sea book 1. A prequel series. I don't think there are any spoilers for Pillars of…

  • Starship's Mage

    Starship's Mage by Glynn Stewart This is the first volume of a series but works on its own. It's also a compilation of independent episodes, which…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded