I hope to see many more evenings like this. I’m alone, sitting in my back yard. The sun has been down for a few minutes, the light is slowly draining out of the day. The previously skeletal trees are starting to look better-fed, some spectacularly so. I drove by a weeping cherry today and pink pedals drifted through the sun roof onto my dash.
It sounds a bit like morning, the same bird calls I expect will wake me. During the heat of the day, there were more woodpeckers knocking, red-winged blackbirds trilling, and black-capped chickadees, my local favorite, making me feel as if I were farther north.
Even with eyes closed, though, I’ll soon hear the evening. Spring peepers will slash through the relative peace, rivaling the cicadas I expect on a warmer week.
I learned a new flower on my walk last week: bloodroot. Despite all my time outdoors, I’ve never noticed it, preferring to keep my eyes out for trillium. The daisy-like flowers were nearly enfolded by a palmate leaf, seemingly birthing them into the spring.
The poison ivy’s not far behind though. The hardiest of hardy’s I’d say. They always look healthy and do not like to be removed. As soon as a bed has been cleared, they appear on a tree trunk, obscuring the bark, daring us to touch.
A cardinal a little ways away seems as happy as I am, enjoying the cool, dry spring air (although I suppose he’s a bit lonely).
The ducks though—the ducks. We have a pair in the backyard, but today, the female was surrounded by a group of drakes—a large group. They splashed, flapped, scooted, and eventually, two of them trapped the female long enough, I suppose, to make suspect the next generation’s paternity.
They can’t ruin this though. It’s perfect, and when I tuck in my daughter, I expect she’ll agree. I’ll never take spring for granted.