marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,
marycatelli
marycatelli

seasons turn

Up, up into the hills, and the slopes are now all brown and bare, punctuated by green of evergreens, but not so much as a hint of maple red blossom.

A raven descends over the road in swathes, flying back and forth until finally it perches on the railing, enormous, and so glossy black that it looked mostly white in the sunlight.

Descending the hills, the roadside had a bank of brush showing no new branches, but flushed with red, and overhead a hawk soared, its wings outstrethced with every feather separate, like a finger.

Abruptly, a cherry tree is blossoming. Most of it is the dark pink buds along every bough and branch, but some already show the open, pale pink bloom.

Rain hammers hard against the windows. I think it sounds like pellets, but whenever I look, there are raindrops. I look out, later, at the cars, and think they may have snow on them -- but it's the skylight with accumulated snow that convinces me.

A deer nibbles in the greenery in a clearing. Its sides are shaggy, not smooth, with spring.

The clouds make the day dark, the bark of all the trees, boughs and trunk, is so dark as to look black, and a few saplings with leaves bleached utterly white over the winter.

Against the gray clouds, a rainbow arches, pale in its color, and low in the sky.

From the thick black clouds over distant hills, rain falls. Thickly, looking like bands of smoke rising up.

The first gill-over-the-ground is low and purple in odd corners; under the tress, the periwinkle plants engulfs all the forest floor in green, starred with blue flowers; among the dead leaves in a stand of trees, the feral daffodils bloom yellow.

How tiny the new rabbits are. Smaller than squirrels, even with all their fluff in its variegated grays and browns

Spring thickens with flowers. Here and there a tree in pink, a bush in purple or yellow, a stand of hyacinth in pink or purple, and everywhere daffodils -- sometimes yellow, sometimes creamy, sometimes yellow and tiny.

Looking into the leafless forest, where saplings stand pale in the unfallen leaves bleached to whiteness over the whiter -- I blink. There is a tree in white there, that might be blossom. Too soon for dogwood, as I thought at first, but could be a feral cherry tree.

I see my first violets growing, of course, in a lawn (I haven't seen violets for sale, I note), and their petals are mixed white and purple.

A rain day turns branches stark black. Against it, the bushes have vivid leaves in palest green, and a cherry tree is white with black tracery, and another hot pink against the black.

A tree has, it looks like, dogwood flowers, a cluster of white about a dark center, but it comes clear: those are actually budding white flowers about the dark center of rain-dampened twig.
Tags: nature
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