goddessing
cosmology, consciousness, contrarinessgoddess religion: pagan blog
www.goddessmystic.com
goddess religion: pagan blog
www.goddessmystic.com
100
Robins have been sighted, though not by me. I saw a Yellow Finch (the "wild canary") at the feeder yesterday, and last week I heard geese overhead. Friends have seen the high-flying sandhill cranes recently, and we've all seen tips of new growth breaking through soil. There are patches still of snow here and there on the down-slope to the lake, remnants of the 100 inches of snowfall that have visited us since the first weekend of December.
It's still chilly outside, but I opened the window for a few minutes this morning to feel the air and hear the beautiful and varied songs of migrating birds I can't identify by song alone, the mystery birds who pass through on their way to locations unknown.
Life returns to the landscape. Any day now the leaves of the bloodroot will unfurl, and soon I'll be out in the yard, burning the last of the fall leaves, working with J to transplant things as we continue to sculpt the non-wild parts of the yard.
There will be a bit of sculpting of the wild, too. A large stack of branches from tree-work done in the fall didn't make it to the burn pile, and they quickly became the daytime home of the house wrens, who darted between them and the feeder all winter long. So, those branches won't be burned. They'll be untangled and moved to a spot by the wood pile just inside the little thicket between the yard and the lake. A blessing of winter's sudden and continuous downfall of snow: a new home for the house wrens.
It's still chilly outside, but I opened the window for a few minutes this morning to feel the air and hear the beautiful and varied songs of migrating birds I can't identify by song alone, the mystery birds who pass through on their way to locations unknown.
Life returns to the landscape. Any day now the leaves of the bloodroot will unfurl, and soon I'll be out in the yard, burning the last of the fall leaves, working with J to transplant things as we continue to sculpt the non-wild parts of the yard.
There will be a bit of sculpting of the wild, too. A large stack of branches from tree-work done in the fall didn't make it to the burn pile, and they quickly became the daytime home of the house wrens, who darted between them and the feeder all winter long. So, those branches won't be burned. They'll be untangled and moved to a spot by the wood pile just inside the little thicket between the yard and the lake. A blessing of winter's sudden and continuous downfall of snow: a new home for the house wrens.
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