Does Mother Nature get SAD?

It’s snowing still. Again! It’s snowing again. Still! At least that  situation is tempered by the observation that  a second jonquil has opened in the bulb planter, with more to come. Sixty (60) days until Spring Equinox! Not quite 6 weeks until meteorological spring. That’s when, approximately, snowflakes become drops and drips and flow into or over the ground feeding aquifers and brooks and creeks and wetlands.  Can you tell I’m not really a winter person?

Groundhog Day is two weeks from today. Will Phil see his shadow? Let’s hope not. It would mess up the Celtic celebration of Imbolc [their start of spring]. I may go with that celebration to reinforce my Irish heritage. If the United Nations, or Congress, or the Minnesota legislature were earning their keep, they’d pass a law that mandates the duration of winter is inversely proportional to its intensity. Actually, maybe Republicans will pass such legislation in a broader form and claim they solved climate breakdown.

see any nests of white-eyes?

Photo by J. Harrington

Yes, winter has affected my judgement and thought processes. Plus, I’m still recovering from the workout of clearing lots of slush from the driveway earlier this week. My slow recuperation reminds me of the old joke “I’m not the man I used to be, never was.” Winters aren’t what they used to be either.

White-Eyes

By Mary Oliver

In winter 

    all the singing is in 

         the tops of the trees 

             where the wind-bird 

with its white eyes 

    shoves and pushes 

         among the branches. 

             Like any of us 

he wants to go to sleep, 

    but he's restless— 

         he has an idea, 

             and slowly it unfolds 

from under his beating wings 

    as long as he stays awake. 

         But his big, round music, after all, 

             is too breathy to last. 

So, it's over. 

    In the pine-crown 

         he makes his nest, 

             he's done all he can. 

I don't know the name of this bird, 

    I only imagine his glittering beak 

         tucked in a white wing 

             while the clouds— 

which he has summoned 

    from the north— 

         which he has taught 

             to be mild, and silent— 

thicken, and begin to fall 

    into the world below 

         like stars, or the feathers 

               of some unimaginable bird 

that loves us, 

    that is asleep now, and silent— 

         that has turned itself 

             into snow.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.