April showers bring? It's been snowing most of the morning here. In "The Cities," not so much. Here's what the back yard looked like earlier today. The two saplings in the fence are the apple trees I've fretted about all Winter. The good news is that mice (or voles, or whatevers) didn't girdle their bark under cover of snow (at least not yet).
April (snow)showers bring slush © harrington
After my debacle trying to photograph the blood moon and eclipse the other night, I'm working harder at deciphering the multitude of options on my DSLR so I might start knowing a little more about how to make it do what I want it to. (I already know what I'm doing, I'm too often experiencing debacles.) I practiced a little this morning on the juncoes that are moving through (wide aperture [smaller number], shallow depth of field). Maybe writing it out like this will help me remember how it works.
Juncoes on their way north © harrington
This afternoon and early evening I'm taking my better half to fundraiser for the Minnesota Chapter of the United States Green Building Council. (I'm on the board of directors.) It's called Dine Away for Earth Day (Earth Day is April 22). There were scheduling conflicts on the 22nd so we're doing it tonight. We'll be at the Red Stag in Minneapolis. If you're not snowed in and in the neighborhood, stop by, join us, buy some raffle tickets and help support a more sustainable and green Minnesota. For day 16 of National Poetry Month, Tom Hennen's Out of Nothing from Where One Voice Ends Another Begins describes how I wish today's weather had turned out. I can deal easily with one snowflake.
Out of Nothing
Snow began slowly. Only one flake fell all mornng. It
was talked about by everyone as they gathered for
coffee. It brought back memories of other times.
Dreams of ice skates, long shotguns waving at geese,
cities lighting up somewhere off the prairie horizon
in the cold gray day. Only one snowflake but it fell
with the grace of a star out of the damp, ragged air. It
filled the day with a clarity seldom noticed. It stood
out sharply as a telephone pole against the skyline of
the winter we each keep to ourselves.
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.