Birds were calling outside my window this morning in the dark long before I was aware of their sounds. We hear what we expect to hear, and for so long through the winter, there has been the wind, the creek, the hum of the computer, the yawning dog stretching in his sleep in the next room, the ticking of the woodstove and no birds.
When bird voices finally broke through winter’s oblivion, I could not name them. That kind of familiarity with the particulars of life outdoors will return soon enough as I comprehend it: I am no longer alone in a gray-numb world of winter. First light lures me with my coffee out onto the front porch.
A comfortable flannel shirt is just enough. Beneath the raucous sound of the creek, spring hums underground. I feel it through my slippers, through the soles of my feet.
March wind carries a trace of sweet loam, moves faint red buds gently at the first hint of dawn. March is to June as early morning is to noon: there is not much color yet in the day, or the year. But the sun will rise. And it will come sooner tomorrow and stay later, every day adding more tint to the faint dilutions of February.
By late April, the color will be almost more than the eye can stand, and I will sit down on the front steps all hours of the day enveloped in a full palette of artist’s colors. The east sky is pinking up already.
The pasture grass is smooth as a putting green painted butterscotch, pressed down flat as pancake batter, snow after snow. Five black crows move erratically back and forth across the field like ice skaters, leaning forward, arms tight against their sides, gliding in the twin choreography of hunger and curiosity.
…from Slow Road Home ~ a Blue Ridge Book of Days
Stumble it!
10 responses so far ↓
1 Rob Paterson // Mar 13, 2008 at 6:44 am
The first geese home turned up 2 days ago here - oh how I welcomed them
2 Mungo // Mar 13, 2008 at 6:45 am
That is a stunning photograph - wow! If you took it, would you tell us a little about it please?
Cheers,
Mungo
3 fred // Mar 13, 2008 at 6:56 am
This maple tree I see from where I sit here at my desk, and see the red roof of the barn–just off image to the right in this picture– and just the other side of the road (gravel) from our mailbox.
We get wonderful morning light (eventually) in our valley and on this particular morning the clarity was dazzling. And even in March, there WAS color, even in the drab, dead pasture that all seemed so monochrome for so much of the winter.
The problem with the lighting consisted of the wide latitude of exposures between the lightest light of the pasture and the darkest dark of the black tree trunk in shadow.
I used HDR (high dynamic range) techniques to tone down the highlights and amplify detail in the shadows, making for a striking image.
Thanks for asking. — Fred
4 MARK // Mar 13, 2008 at 7:35 am
HOW BEAUTIFUL. I AM SO GLAD I HAVE YOUR BOOK—SLOW ROAD HOME.
MARK
5 Wanda Kidd // Mar 13, 2008 at 8:01 am
Your writing this morning, made me so home sick. But I loved the brief moment of remembering.
The photo has such a feeling of peace. Nice!
6 Bruce // Mar 13, 2008 at 9:21 am
Nice pic and piece. Really resonates with some of my own feelings about the yearned-for return of Spring. I’ve really been enjoying these recent days of sunlight, the return of the geese, crocus, and birds. The ground has thawed and I can get back to some digging-related projects. Viva Spring!
7 Jes // Mar 13, 2008 at 10:14 am
The sound of the birds is a sweet comfort and a reminder that spring is really coming.
8 The Zen Birdfeeder // Mar 13, 2008 at 7:18 pm
Haven’t visited your blog in a while. I’m glad I did - beautiful words and beautiful image. Thanks.
9 Ron Dees // Mar 13, 2008 at 9:54 pm
The first robin visited us yesterday. There were deer droppings in the front yard. The forsythia is budding out. And like Fred, I’ll take my coffee on the porch tomorrow morning.
10 Gretchen // Mar 14, 2008 at 7:58 pm
Beautiful words, Fred….
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