A piebald robin, with one wing and half its tails white -- and a few white feathers flecked among the red, as well. When it turns, you see that quarter of its neck is white as well.
How odd it is -- my garden faces mostly south, with the shelter of the townhouse behind it. What an effect it has, with the crocuses in full bloom, cream and yellow and orange, in my garden, when about the neighborhood (with most gardens facing east or west), I see only three snowdrops.
I wake to surprising snow; it has even coated the walkways entirely. But when I rouse and go out after it ends, there are a flurry of tulip sprouts reaching upward -- dozens since last I looked, the day before. And, indeed, about the neighborhood, daffodil sprouts and tulip sprouts abound. In the sheltered nook, where an embankment faces a building, the daffodils are well up, though they have no buds, and the tips of the green leaves are touched with brown where winter blasted them.
The lawn is flecked with curves of purple, where the crocus buds had folded up for the night and not yet unfolded with the dawn.
Daffodils have begun to bloom. Worse, so have dandelions. Though not in the stretch of woodland among the dead leaves, where you can see only the stands of green where feral daffodils grow.
A squirrel on a tree trunk is utterly still except for its tail, which it lashes so swiftly and randomly it looks like it's being tossed about by the blustery day.
The trees are starting to wear their lace-work of buds, maples in red, willows in green -- from afar you can see the veil of reds and pale greens over the hills.
What with weather and wind, the trees on one slope have just tossed down some of their golden leaves, but not all, with gold above and gold below in the spring winds.
In the median the maples are the hazy red of their new buds, but the grass below perished utterly in the summer's drought, and remains a dingy yellow.
How quickly it bloomed -- a crocus that, last night, looked like nothing more than a sprig of green with no visible bud, this day has opened into a purple flower. (And the next day has several more companions.) And all about the gardens and lawns are sprigged with purple as the crocuses emerge.
Ah, spring. No sooner than it had arrived than so did snow, enough to carpet all the lawns and take hours to melt.
The pinks are not only flourishing with green, the buds of intense rose-red are already starting to be seen, where the tulips are nothing more buds on the most forward of flowers.