They're subtle, but the signs are there if you look close, to see spring working it's way out from under this dirty white blanket everywhere. While out yesterday morning gathering sap from our maple trees, I spotted this small spot of snowdrops bravely making their way out of the snow, and ran for the camera.I spotted a robin trolling through the grass in an open spot, but he flew away before I could capture his welcome image. Nearby was the the very last remnant of the tallest snowman Jim and Anna built.The last pale leaves of the beech trees add an elfin woods look to contrast with the darker evergreens behind it.Each day, we hear sandhill cranes with their high, wild call winging north high overhead. On the path, the moss is growing brighter green with each day.In front of the house, the tulips and the dead nettle are reaching for the sunInside the greenhouse, the daffodil bulbs that we missed when we dug out the dirt to lay the bricks are forcing their way up.Wigelia and forsythia buds are swelling. I snipped some of these to force bloom inside.And most beautiful of all, last night a fog rolled in, making everything soft and mysterious. The snow on the ground seems to absorb the light and make this photograph much lighter than it actually was. In the foreground, Anna's swing waits summer play, while in the background the barrel cooker and the wayside building shelter tables, tents and cooking equipment for warmer days' fun.Our home is on a popular route for bicyclists and riders are a frequent sight, as they make their way past. They come in all sizes and shapes, from grandma and grandpa with the kids all riding together, to the most exotic lycra-clad modernist with all the latest gear. Yesterday I saw my first of that breed, decked out in brilliant lime green lycra riding an ultra-light mountain bike. He looked like a blossom, all by himself.
It feels like our whole world these days is gathering energy for that annual joyous rush of new life. I can feel my mood and energy level swinging into that lighter feeling too-how could I not?
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Fog
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The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
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