It's been cold hereabout these last few days. A brisk 34˚F when I got up this morning. The weather folks have regularly issued frost warnings, and several nights in a row we've lit an evening fire in woodstove.
Spring has taken a decided step backwards.
Nevertheless, the chlorophyll rush continues, with the landscape turning ever greener almost by the hour. The unseasonable chill hasn't put much of a damper on the wildflowers, either. Early ephemerals are up and fading, and the second wave of blooms are coming on strong. I keep meaning to visit a favorite woodland or two and make a few photos, though so far haven't managed.
Truth is, I've not been in much of a vernal mood. I still miss Moon, my beloved outdoor-rambling companion. I'm doing okay—managing, anyway—but there's still this great big empty hole—a sad, lonely weight that drapes across my days like a dark veil. Still grieving, I guess, waiting for time to heal the rawness of her passing.
The river returned back to its normal spring pool and again sparkles like a lively moving ribbon the shade of polished jade. My yard-feeding pair of Canada geese are currently setting their nest on the island across from the cottage. The great blue heron is nabbing lots of minnows from the riffles and shallows along the gravel bar just downstream. Our tulips are blooming, and all sorts of birds are singing from the greening treetops in ebullient procreative fervor.
I just wish…well, you know what I wish.