Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
With part of that title, ``Walking into Light,'' I am not trying to steal or borrow from Jethro Tull's frontman Ian Anderson's album, ``Walk into Light.'' I'm not that big a fan.
Funny how some sounds in music--Jethro Tull or Emerson, Lake & Palmer, for example--just don't resonate with me.
But the title fit this morning.
Back pain had me up extra early this morning.
As I pulled the curtains back on the night, the full moon scudded through the remnants of clouds in the western sky. It was one of those sights that made me pause and savor the moment.
Still dark when the meathead and I set out, even darker because by then the full moon had either set or was hidden behind clouds on the horizon.
Even in the late dark, the racket of robins came on all sides in town.
About an inch of snow cover, more or less, remained in most areas. I suspect all but the drifted spots will be bare by this evening.
Some ducks I couldn't identify and a pair of mallards flew off from the north end of the north old clay as we approached.
Canada geese fussed on the lake to the west. By the tracks in the snow, critters were active in the last day. Red-winged blackbirds trilled around the north pit.
One of the Canada goose pair was on the nest on the island. I could barely make it out in the dark. I could not find the other one swimming around the south pit.
The floating ice shanty remains piled into the south shore of the south pit.
Back in town, a ridiculous number or robins hopped around the open spots in the snow cover on lawns.
The light of near dawn came enough by the time we reached our block that the cooing of mourning doves ballooned on all sides.
Later, thinking on Jethro Tull reminded me of other rock sounds I can't abide: Boston, Styx and Kansas.
At least we have enough moisture in the ground now, with the drought in Illinois officially over, to avoid ``Dust in the Wind,'' something I try to do at all costs.