It’s ice out time in our neighborhood

Sometime during the past few days, local lakes have reached ice out; if we consider ice out to mean 80% or 90% of the lake is open water. Last night’s storms have left many ditches full of water and some local streams running bank full. Now all we need is sunshine and warmth for spring to burst out all over. Maybe next week, or the one after it?

I don’t remember the last time we saw as much thunder and lightning as we did last night. SiSi gets anxiety attacks when it thunders, so we spent lots of time reassuring her that she’d be okay if she just settled down near us. It sort of worked but we’re both pretty sleepy today.

Sunrise River marshes: sandhill cranes

Photo by J. Harrington

Earlier, watching sandhill cranes flying agains a cloudfilled sky made us think of Klingon war birds or pterodactyls. Their haunting calls seemed to echo off the cloud bottoms. This is not how we usually think of spring weather, but that probably means the issue isn’t the weather but our expectations. At least we’re not living on Hoth, the ice planet, for the next six or seven months, although having a nice warm house remains high on the list of things for which we’re grateful. With all the dreary, depressing news these days, it would be wonderful if the weather provided an antidote. Soon?

The Sandhills

By Linda Hogan

The language of cranes

we once were told

is the wind. The wind

is their method,

their current, the translated story

of life they write across the sky.

Millions of years

they have blown here

on ancestral longing,

their wings of wide arrival,

necks long, legs stretched out

above strands of earth

where they arrive

with the shine of water,

stories, interminable

language of exchanges

descended from the sky

and then they stand,

earth made only of crane

from bank to bank of the river

as far as you can see

the ancient story made new.

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