Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
A lone Canada goose flew low over town, heading toward the lake to the west, as we set out this morning.
I think the only way to describe this morning is pretty. Normally I am not much for using the word pretty, but it captured this morning.
More light snow spitting. Enough snow, maybe an inch, stuck overnight that everything was whitened this morning.
It was just pretty.
In town, rabbit and squirrel tracks were everywhere. Apparently they were out enjoying the pretty weather, or more likely simply looking for food.
A lone dove jumped around by side rail track as we crossed toward the town pond. Apparently that dove is planning on nesting around there.
The geese on the lake to the west raised their usual ruckus.
Red-winged blackbirds, quite a number, trilled by the north old clay pit. What I found surprising is that the north pit remained completely locked in ice, yet the red-winged blackbirds were there.
There was open water under the bridge over the neckdown between the two old pits, and a bigger patch of open water by the inflow from the ditch on the east side.
It's been that kind of winter.
Even with open water that close, the ice fishermen still have their ice shanty on the ice cap on the south end of the south pit. They have faith. It didn't look like they tried to use it yesterday.
The pretty morning matched my spirit this morning. I had my first full night of sleep in a week. My infected jaw finally calmed enough to sleep the whole night through. Amazing how much difference that makes in how I feel about life.
More doves flew off the wires by the feed mill on the edge of town. Mourning doves have been the story of the past week or so.
A mess of doves, a gray squirrel and a black squirrel scattered from under the trees where a neighbor spreads bird feed as we neared home.
Signs of the coming spring--technically meteorological spring starts tomorrow--pile up, much like the snow the last few days--slowing by increments.
A Cooper's hawk coasted over our yard as the ramble ended. That was a nice touch. And not a single bird or squirrel was at our bird feeder. Somebody must have sensed the danger from above.