Willis and I walked at nearly dusk. I had been reading, rather muzzy and sleepy [last night's rest disturbed by sciatic pain and cat antics] and considered not going out. There is a certain pride involved in this daily trek around the meadow that I have set for myself, so jacket pulled on and headed up the slope of the north ravine toward the east fence line.
A grey squirrel shot part way up a slender sapling, sprang to a larger tree, tail afloat. I paused, looking upward while Willis twined ingratiatingly around my ankles, but the squirrel had disappeared.
All through the winter fallen hickory nuts and black walnuts have lodged in heaps beneath the trees, small hard nubbins rolling under the soles of my boots.
Now the brown hulls have shucked away leaving the bone-white balls of the hickories and the dark ridged spheres of the black walnuts.
Burgeoning pasture grass, dandelions, purple-headed stems of dead-nettle are fast covering the nuts, but they are still a presence shifting beneath my feet.
Walking over them during winter I've thought of how many potential trees lie there, thousands, surely. So long as the meadow and verges are mown the only possibility for tiny new trees is farther down the slope of the ravine.
Dandelions emerge in scattered spots throughout the winter months, blossoms held tightly against the cold damp ground. I noticed that the blooms don't fluff out with seed; instead they curl back into themselves, sterile and forlorn.
Now with warmer weather dandelions, taller stemmed, are in bloom everywhere--in the gravel of the walkway, pushing ruthlessly up around the roses, squatting in a clump of peonies.
Tiny yellow violets shrouded in last autumn's curls of oak, beech and maple leaves.
Their hardier purple cousins crowd into the flower beds, spread in profusion along the lane.
The air was soft this evening, heavy with the possibility of rain, fresh with the scent of green grass and budding trees.
After days of brisk wind the tree branches were motionless, the stillness part of the soft cloak of grey twilight fading into night.
A wicked cold wind here today and the "I'll go for a walk when we get back" plan was swiftly abandoned. I am on the binding for Tam's quilt now, and managed to make a muck up of that on the first corner too. Sigh. Always my nemesis.
ReplyDeleteIt does the power of good to see trees coming into leaf, day by day, and blooming, and masses of daffodils, and Magnolias in bloom. We don't have yellow Violets here, but we do have lots of Celendines. Dead-nettle flowering too, so on a par with you.
Jennie; I think yellow violets are not as common as purple. In Vermont there was a wooded slope where I found purple, white and yellow in the same area as well as some with a little 'tooth' on the backside of the blossom.
DeleteDead-nettle is everywhere--entire fields are covered. Who am I to think I might eradicate it from my flower beds?
I find that forcing oneself to take that walk almost always ends up being an enjoyable time. Definitely worth the effort in any season but especially in spring.
ReplyDeleteG.M. I've been known to dash out during a lull in a rainy day, but a cold wind can deter me. I do always feel virtuous if I've cudgeled myself out the door and stomped at least once around the loop.
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