not snowdrops but a (non-native) Lenten rose in late March
Photo by J. Harrington
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The birds and the local deer appear to have focused more on staying sheltered from the winds than on getting food over the past day or so. Activity at the feeders has been limited. There's no indication any members of the infamous whitetail gang helped themselves to the sunflower seed feeder last night. We, on the other hand, have been enjoying hearty fare like homemade ham hash and a very robust beef stew. This afternoon we'll be baking a boule of artisan sourdough bread which will also help take some of the chill off the kitchen, dining and living rooms. Really severe cold spells like this occur regularly but rarely enough that we're not sure if they affect phenology and/or evolutionary adaptations or not. We think it's comparable to our inability, by definition, to plan for a black swan, but we're not really sure.
The Snowdrop
Close to the sod
There can be seen
A thought of God
In white and green.
Unmarred, unsoiled
It cleft the clay,
Serene, unspoiled
It views the day.
It is so holy
And yet so lowly.
Would you enjoy
Its grace and dower
And not destroy
The living flower?
Then you must, please,
Fall on your knees.
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