Signs of Life

Sunday morning, first Sunday of May.

I glance at the thermometer to see the needle hovering below 10 degrees as though it is stuck, held fast by a force I can't control.  It seems to be perpetually hovering below 10 degrees lately.

I look out of the window, raindrops cling to the needles of the pines, beyond them the sky is white-grey, no promise of sun.



I could sit and bemoan the slow procession of Winter handing over to Spring, the fact that the daffodils are shivering in their pale buds, the bloodroot are refusing to unfurl and it's colder than I would like....  But early morning is my favourite time of the day and this morning I decide to go in search of signs of life.

My walk takes me down to the canal, over the lock gate and onto a path that traces a spit of land built years ago that separates the canal from the river.  There are trees and shrubs and water on either side.


Signs of life - come on Louise, look hard, you are sure to be rewarded.

The first thing I notice are buds, green leaves ready to burst forth.



 

Spindly branches bouncing around in the wind making it hard to get a good picture.  All around me is the sound of birds.  Redwings calling to their mates, robins, grackles and cowbirds - sounding the alert 'intruder!'.

The beavers have been busy gnawing and dragging trees and branches -



It's easy to see their pathways from one side of the track to the other, bits of twigs left in their wake.



Their lodge is on the right hand side - if you look carefully you might see it.

Threads of geese fly overhead calling to each other 'can YOU see Spring?'

A heron swoops through, close enough that I imagine I can almost hear the air beneath it's great grey wings.

Signs of Life.



Fungi clinging tenaciously to thin trunks, I'm constantly amazed by how that survives the winter, the ice and bitter temperatures.

Horsetail is pushing up, it seems as though everything is holding it's breath waiting for sun and warmth, waiting to let go and explode in a boom of greenery.



At the end of the trail I come to a point where the river rushes by on it's way to the sluice gates and the next set of locks.  From here I can look upstream to the migratory bird sanctuary.  Looking for green, seeing grey.



I see two little birds sitting on a branch in the misty wind - at first I think they are chickadees because they are backlit and I can't get much detail. Then they fly around and I see they are a pair of swallows.  I  think they are building a nest in a dead tree trunk, there are holes in it and one of them goes to to check it out as if to say 'what should I do next?'.  Then they are off and up and soaring on the wind, blown like leaves of feather, and around my head and back to the branch and away again.  It was beautiful, and I need to remember - Spring always comes.