Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
We walked out in the dark and came back in the half light.
Half light, such as it was on an overcast rainy morning after time change.
We are in the freaking 21st Century and still doing the antiquated time change.
Enough on that crap.
Too early, too dark, for doves as we set out.
I will say more snow survived the rain and warmup than I expected.
Robins hopped around and called almost violently in the dark. Canada geese called from low flights in the distance and the lake to the west.
Faithful readers know I was predicting that the pair of Canada geese would be on the nest on the town pond. But it was too dark to tell either way. It looked like not yet.
The north old clay pit remains completely ice covered. The south pit is about two-thirds open water.
Yet the ice fishermen left there ice shanty out on the ice cap holding on the south end of the south pit. I was sure yesterday they would get it off.
I was intrigued enough to test the ice cap. It is thicker and stronger than I expected.
No red-winged blackbirds this morning. I suspect that is simply a function of being out so early in the dark.
Light enough by the time as we neared home that I heard mourning doves cooing on all sides in town. It mixed with the racket of the robins in such a way that it reminded me of the composer Philip Glass.
Don't ask me why, I am no connoisseur of Glass's odd and influential works.
In the distance, faint honking of geese, like an off-key back note.