"Suppose we did our work
like the snow, quietly, quietly,
leaving nothing out."
My feathered friends are active. Scolding the Posse, "stealing" their cat food, mostly in blacks and whites and grays, although the raucous blue jays and the magnificent cardinals are around as well.
Otherwise, spunky chickadees and their cousins the titmice; black and white of the woodpeckers, nuthatch (though I sometimes think they, too, have a touch of blue), snowbirds aplenty, sparrows of various persuasions make up the flock.
The pond is frozen--I assume the gold is safely hidden at the bottom. The Sentinel has contributed another of its massive limbs to the middle of the pond as it slowly continues its journey toward decay. Soon it will limbless--still magnificent, but a spar on a ship--guardian of the pond and its minions. I hope it waits to fall until after I am gone.
There is, of course, some green around. Conifers, lungwort in the trees, Lenten roses everywhere, the green of the iris, azaleas. Hints of life to come again. In places the hardy cyclamen are still producing their miniature pink flowers. Life at The Acres. a gift from The Ancient of Days for an ancient human. May I remember each day to whisper a "thank you." And then enjoy His present in all its wondrous wrapping.
like the snow, quietly, quietly,
leaving nothing out."
My feathered friends are active. Scolding the Posse, "stealing" their cat food, mostly in blacks and whites and grays, although the raucous blue jays and the magnificent cardinals are around as well.
Otherwise, spunky chickadees and their cousins the titmice; black and white of the woodpeckers, nuthatch (though I sometimes think they, too, have a touch of blue), snowbirds aplenty, sparrows of various persuasions make up the flock.
The pond is frozen--I assume the gold is safely hidden at the bottom. The Sentinel has contributed another of its massive limbs to the middle of the pond as it slowly continues its journey toward decay. Soon it will limbless--still magnificent, but a spar on a ship--guardian of the pond and its minions. I hope it waits to fall until after I am gone.
There is, of course, some green around. Conifers, lungwort in the trees, Lenten roses everywhere, the green of the iris, azaleas. Hints of life to come again. In places the hardy cyclamen are still producing their miniature pink flowers. Life at The Acres. a gift from The Ancient of Days for an ancient human. May I remember each day to whisper a "thank you." And then enjoy His present in all its wondrous wrapping.
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