Days of Contentment

At breakfast this morning, there was a cardinal, flying from tree to tree trying to screw up its courage to challenge the chipmunk and the squirrels and the chickadees to the pile of peanuts set out on the walk in front of our garden shed. We watched as the brilliant scarlet bird flashed its presence from one vantage point to another, finally settling beside the peanuts, vacated by those who had taken their fill.

Later, off we went on our ravine walk, dressed against the chill of the day, complete with old boots remembering well how muddy it had been when we were out perambulating on the ravine trails during a light rain yesterday and slithering on the revealed clay, the ground unable to absorb any additional offerings of rain, puddles appearing everywhere, encouraging the small areas of jewel weed that just thrive in these conditions.

Another red flash, this time the head of a pileated woodpecker as he flew from tree to tree, to finally settle on one he had previously ravished, huge gaping holes left where that primitive head hammered bark to reveal a white interior hosting insects and grubs that so appealed to a woodpecker's appetite. The creek ran thick and dark with mud raised from the floor of its bed, and we were enveloped in a fragrance of spring.

Later, at home, we set about cutting back die-backs in the garden; those portions of the Japanese maple that had begun to thrive in early spring but have since died back. And those climbing rose stems that are too vigorously growing where they are not needed. And the overhanging branches of our neighbours' huge old spruce, nudging one of our apple trees too closely for comfort. We took secateurs to the burning bush, blooming now and run amok with spring enthusiasm, interrupting the free growth of a clematis.

The garden is coming along as it should. Irises blooming, rose buds being set, and clematis buds as well. Everything architecturally thriving and colourfully celebrating new life.