This morning, I watched the sun rise over the frozen lake. First, a faint sliver of rose pink appeared on the horizon. Then, a swath of orange lit up the eastern sky right before the giant, grapefruit sun peeked over the trees. A new day.
The two balsams I relocated from the forest six years ago as seedlings no bigger than my thumb have grown as tall as six year old kids. This morning, giant clumpy snowflakes are settling on their branches. The tree that lives closest to the septic tank is a good four inches taller than his partner to the south. So much depends on where a tree, or person, is planted.
The neighbor dogs have made tracks all over the yard. Lola comes by a couple of times a day, furtively searching for something of mine to steal. This winter, I’ve outsmarted her where bird suet is concerned. Luckily, she is a dog who doesn’t spend a great deal of time looking up. Libby, our other furry, four-legged neighbor, comes by for a Milk Bone every evening. Last night, I had the strange feeling that I was being observed. When I looked up, Libby was outside with her muzzle pressed tightly against the window, clouds of dog breath fogging up the pane of glass. Who knew that a single dog cookie a day from the neighbor lady could become part of a dog’s (and neighbor lady’s) daily”to do” list?
In other news, the Girl and I are planning a spring break trip in March to somewhere warm. Each night, we text possibilities back and forth, weighing our mutually agreed upon need for unfiltered sunshine against all the other possible criteria. I never took spring break trips when I was in college, and neither did she. We are making up for it now. And so, for a few days in March, we’ll watch the same sun I saw this morning set over an ocean at the end of each day. We’ll shop and eat and treat ourselves to sweet drinks. We’ll bury our toes in warm sand. We’ll talk and laugh. We’ll raise our faces to the sun and not be very wild at all.
At least, that’s MY itinerary. Stayed tuned.
The Loon Whisperer 