If I had a memory, I ‘d conjure up a soothing froth around my feet. I’d picture a beach of scampering crabs and sandpipers peeping. I’d have my surf fishing pole, my sunglasses and drink with an umbrella to pick the seaweed out of my teeth. Never been there, but it’s nice just the same.
There’s a blizzard wielding a mighty blow in the North. It is getting cold in the Governor’s office in Minneapolis. The shape-shifters are out in force, they are slipping on the ice and their own tongues.
December, for Nature’s artists, is a pristine white canvas and Michigan is abundant with an array of colorful artists with feathery brushes. Cardinals are my favorite, closely followed by the chickadees and nut hatches. Even the greedy and raucous bluejay is a winter scape Monet. And how about those redheaded and crenelated woodpeckers? Crazy Picassos in the wild.
The last of our wild canaries have gone. A few hung around until winter finally settled in with temperatures now dipping to below zero during the night and early morning. The bird feeder is now bursting with chickadees and bright red cardinals, both winter residents, staying for the duration. The cardinals will even hang around for the summer, but the chickadees will be long gone when the canaries return in the Spring. All of them love the sunflower seeds that were recently harvested from the Michigan fields. The chickadees are so social and trusting they will pick the seeds right out of our hands. May your days be as bright as the beautiful red cardinals and the chickadees’ delight.
Winter is here….and our grandma quilts are out of the cedar chest and about the house. They are full of magical memories of love and warmth, kisses, sweet apple pies, and stories shared beside the fireplace as the icicles drip off the eaves of time.
Natural selection came in the night and trimmed our forests. The power went with the trees that fell and the limbs that broke from the burdens of wet snow. Not even the snowplows were ready for this one. Next springs lilacs are going to look like a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.
Without warmth,
the sun is piercing bright.
My eyes burn, water and blur
blind and shut. They seek
the darkness and comfort
of earth beneath snow
as white and deep as January. Continue reading →