An Arctic Wind Blows
First thing this morning the sight of billowing sheets of snow flurries hurried slantwards by a polar wind greeted out eyes. And the thermometer read minus ten degrees celsius. Some April 6 this is. On the other hand, it's business as usual for April. We just forget from year to year that although we irrationally celebrate the arrival of April/Spring, nature rarely relents so readily in this Northern Hemisphere. Where the Easter week-end traditionally brings warm sunny weather and a true promise of irreversible re-birth to the land people can celebrate in a way we cannot yet.
Yet we can, and do in our own way. We know this is a temporary set-back. A cruel set-back to be sure, but one that nature uses simply to remind us who is in charge here. It certainly is not humankind in this particular instance. And besides, although it was very cold out and continued to be throughout the course of the day, the sun did come out from time to time to cheer our hearts, teasing us as it played peek-a-boo with a determined cloud system. Still, how can we complain, since areas south of us for heaven's sake, were expecting 5 to 10 centimetres of snow, not the mere flurries we were having.
As we entered the ravine in our daily walk we heard geese overhead and saw a meagre group of three, enthusiastically flying across the sky, obviously heading toward their day-time roost in nearby farmers' fields. We haven't yet seen those great, elongated vees of returning geese but will, eventually. A cardinal far off in the distance sweetened the air with its trills. The wet and muddy trail that greeted us all week has been transformed back into the solid mass so familiar to us while the ground remained frozen.
The creek is still fairly full, rushing muddily alongside the trail, burbling as it swishes over fallen tree trunks. It's been a hard year for the banks of the creek entirely created of clay and collapsing under the influence of all that early winter rain, taking along with it all the trees that had stood so uncertainly upon their edges, now wallowing across the ravine bed. They won't greet another spring season of new growth. Although their presence could eventually translate into reasonable habitat for young fish if the creek were sufficiently altered to also produce sustenance for them.
Soon we'll see symbols of the seasonal bird migration, the occasional great blue heron resting in the creek on its journey northward, and the occasional pair of nesting ducks before they continue their trip to the Ottawa River and points north. The crows are circling above, hoarsely cawing, but nothing like the murder of crows we'd seen only yesterday. They were a treat; their repertoire of peculiar calls unlike anything we've been familiar with. An interpreter might convey the information that all those crows were laughing at us laughing at them.
Where only yesterday we had splashed and slithered through the slippery mud on the trails, today those same trails are arrested, frozen as miniature hills and valleys, limned with thin sheets of ice. The fast-running tributaries of the creek have been transformed to a quiet and still frozen ribbon. We're glad we took the precaution of dressing for this change of weather. Everything looks sere, uncolourful, frozen in time. We're amazed to see a large bird flutter off the ground before us, identifying it as a woodcock, first time seen here.
The pileated woodpecker sends his long, loose and crazy laugh of a call over the tops of the trees. There is actually colour here and there; the whites and greys of delicate lichen growing in circular shelves around dead branches littering the forest floor. The bright hues of green reflecting luxuriant mosses now revealed in their fresh glory, immune to the cold. And here and there bright red bits of mossy vegetation at the foot of tree trunks. And small ferns recently liberated from the snow and ice.
Oh yes, spring is here; shy to show herself, but here nonetheless. Arctic wind aside, dire temperature more like approaching Christmas than the Easter season.
Yet we can, and do in our own way. We know this is a temporary set-back. A cruel set-back to be sure, but one that nature uses simply to remind us who is in charge here. It certainly is not humankind in this particular instance. And besides, although it was very cold out and continued to be throughout the course of the day, the sun did come out from time to time to cheer our hearts, teasing us as it played peek-a-boo with a determined cloud system. Still, how can we complain, since areas south of us for heaven's sake, were expecting 5 to 10 centimetres of snow, not the mere flurries we were having.
As we entered the ravine in our daily walk we heard geese overhead and saw a meagre group of three, enthusiastically flying across the sky, obviously heading toward their day-time roost in nearby farmers' fields. We haven't yet seen those great, elongated vees of returning geese but will, eventually. A cardinal far off in the distance sweetened the air with its trills. The wet and muddy trail that greeted us all week has been transformed back into the solid mass so familiar to us while the ground remained frozen.
The creek is still fairly full, rushing muddily alongside the trail, burbling as it swishes over fallen tree trunks. It's been a hard year for the banks of the creek entirely created of clay and collapsing under the influence of all that early winter rain, taking along with it all the trees that had stood so uncertainly upon their edges, now wallowing across the ravine bed. They won't greet another spring season of new growth. Although their presence could eventually translate into reasonable habitat for young fish if the creek were sufficiently altered to also produce sustenance for them.
Soon we'll see symbols of the seasonal bird migration, the occasional great blue heron resting in the creek on its journey northward, and the occasional pair of nesting ducks before they continue their trip to the Ottawa River and points north. The crows are circling above, hoarsely cawing, but nothing like the murder of crows we'd seen only yesterday. They were a treat; their repertoire of peculiar calls unlike anything we've been familiar with. An interpreter might convey the information that all those crows were laughing at us laughing at them.
Where only yesterday we had splashed and slithered through the slippery mud on the trails, today those same trails are arrested, frozen as miniature hills and valleys, limned with thin sheets of ice. The fast-running tributaries of the creek have been transformed to a quiet and still frozen ribbon. We're glad we took the precaution of dressing for this change of weather. Everything looks sere, uncolourful, frozen in time. We're amazed to see a large bird flutter off the ground before us, identifying it as a woodcock, first time seen here.
The pileated woodpecker sends his long, loose and crazy laugh of a call over the tops of the trees. There is actually colour here and there; the whites and greys of delicate lichen growing in circular shelves around dead branches littering the forest floor. The bright hues of green reflecting luxuriant mosses now revealed in their fresh glory, immune to the cold. And here and there bright red bits of mossy vegetation at the foot of tree trunks. And small ferns recently liberated from the snow and ice.
Oh yes, spring is here; shy to show herself, but here nonetheless. Arctic wind aside, dire temperature more like approaching Christmas than the Easter season.
Labels: Whoops
posted by Pieface @ 5:48 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home