From April. Cold cold cold & mud mud mud. We dug under dead plants to find the first green sprouting things, got scolded by a very very mad red-bellied woodpecker, used fallen branches as bridges to cross the muddiest spots, and found our way to a warm, dry little island of flattened grass on the edge of the St Croix, where we watched gulls and eagles and far-off floating ducks.
These are from March! Apparently I forgot to post them. I think maybe I edited them and then decided I didn’t like them. More recent ones soon.
wrens building a nest in the bee-shaped bird house today! hello new neighbors!
i didn’t take a picture of the rabbit i buried last week so here is a dead grackle.
selecting swamp shells
hello summer boots, hello deer bones
One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one’s head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone’s eyes.
The Secret Garden
Every winter is a little different, and this one’s primary characteristics have been perpetually white, thick, blobby, and completely unphotogenic. I appreciate the lack of grey slush and the fresh animal tracks to follow through the woods, but any photos I’ve tried to take are pretty gross-looking. I can’t wait for spring.
In the meantime, here are some photos of a snowman Vernon & I built on a frozen lake (or what would probably be a swampy oxbow of the St Croix in summer) in the middle of the woods this weekend. We felt guilty leaving him all alone at sunset, so we gave him a bird companion so they can face the impending spring together.