Past the ides of January

I once thought the ides occurred on the 15th of every month. That was incorrect. Wikipedia informs us that ides are “a day in the Roman calendar that fell roughly in the middle of the month. In March, May, July, and October it was the 15th day of the month; in other months it was the 13th.” It doesn’t inform us us why the ides varied from the 15th of some months to the 13th of others. Since it’s not March and I’m not Julius Caesar, I’m not going to worry about it.

For the past week or so, the edges of our driveway and the road shoulder in front of the house have been accumulating deer and turkey tracks. There have been no actual recent sightings of either critter however. I’ve been surprised that  the  dogs haven’t shown more interest in the tracks but perhaps the cold and the snow cover limits the scents from tracks.

deer track in the snow

Photo by J. Harrington

One of the back yard red squirrels has a snow tunnel to hide in and travel through along the  base of the  retaining wall behind the garage. I noticed a squirrel disappearing into the tunnel through a hole I hadn’t paid attention to. There’s also a gap in the snow cover at the base of the brush pile. I suspect there’s a “runny babbit” wintering under the brush but there aren’t any tracks near the snow gap so maybe it’s just a location on the lee side of the pile.

turkey tracks in the snow

Photo by J. Harrington

The good folks at the National Phenology Network have begun tracking the status of Spring down at the southern tip of Florida. That’s both a hopeful sign and a cruel and unusual punishment for those of us in the northern tier.

Item:

Lynn Emanuel - 1949-

I strolled through the neighborhood of beautiful houses
All of which I had written

Down the long dark street
Past the cemetery

Where all the tombstones
Had my small white face.

Over my shoulder burned the lamp
Of the moon.

The pages, in the wind, flew, were fluffed and ruffled
Like water by stones into a tune.

I watched the horse and the rat
The rabbit and fox

Leaving their tracks
On the snowy drafts.

The fox looked like me
Had my face

A long sharp chin
A shifty eye.

The wind riffled its beautiful pelt.
My spelling faltered

Under the spell of myself.

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