March moments

This morning, as I was heading off to a meeting for a project I'm working on, I decided to leave my camera at home. I'd be traveling known routes that I had traveled just a few days before, and wouldn't have much time to spare for photography. Of course, that's why I saw what I think was a snowy owl perched in a tree overlooking the Carlos Avery tundra. Naturally, as I passed by the same tree on the return trip, there was no sign of whatever I saw earlier. Having learned to never say never, I'm not sure I can now say "never again" will I leave the camera at home because I won't need it. A small sign of Progress on the season front showed itself as I was coming south on Highway 65. A little north of the Cambridge exit there were a number of Canada geese and some swans sharing open water in a wetland on the west side of the highway. They were visible despite the "Spring snow storm" through which I was driving. Since they probably spent the Winter somewhere warmer than Minnesota, and I didn't, they're probably taking today's weather more in stride than I have.

March 24: 25" gap between feeder and snow bank  © harrington

For obvious reasons, we haven't made much progress on the melting front over the past week. The gap between the bottom of the feeder and the top of the snow bank has only grown by 3 inches, from 22 inches a week ago to 25 inches today. After tomorrow, we're looking at a consistent series of daytime high temperatures above freezing, so we hope to be able to report a major improvement in snow melt next week. As she often does, Jane Kenyon captures the moment, this one in March.

Spring snow

by Jane Kenyon

A thoughtful snow comes falling . . .
seems to hang in the air before
concluding that it must fall
here. Huge aggregate flakes
alight on the muddy ruts
of March, and the standing
water that thaws by day
and freezes again by night.
Venus is content to shine unseen
this evening, having risen serene
above springs, and false springs.
But I, restless after supper, pace
the long porch while the snow falls,
dodging the clothesline I won’t
use until peonies send up red,
plump, irrepressible spears.

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