Would you like a good-morning view from our deck this morning at dawn?
Beautiful purple-pink colors, yes?
The Dawn Show only lasted for five minutes.
Before it disappeared and gray skies took control of the horizon.
How quickly we must admire, must appreciate, before life takes on another view! Don’t blink! You’ll miss the splendor of the purple-pink moment…
If you blink, you’ll miss the first spring robin.
Our eyes have been staring at the side lawn for days now. Since March 27th to be exact.
March 27th is my friend Lyn’s birthday. Usually robins appear by her birthday. This year they were scarce–probably hiding out in downstate Michigan. You can’t blame them. The ground is still mostly frozen around these parts, and robins must pull up worms from half-way thawed soil.
Today the first robin appeared. Barry–the eagle eye–spotted it.
“Kathy! There’s a robin!” he exclaimed.
I ran toward the robin, which now paused in the tree. Scurried outside to take it’s official northern photograph. It paused momentarily before bursting into flight. A crow’s shadow flapped overhead. The dawn skies applauded.
Two mourning doves have been waddling around the garden, mostly under the feeder. One mourning dove has disappeared in the last few days. Is it nesting? Have the first two doves disappeared, to be replaced by a third passer-by? Who knows? The dove pecks at seeds. The finches and chickadees mostly ignore it.
This afternoon–after the purple-pink dawn, the first robin, and the April rain showers, the snow showers appeared. Snow swirled and dipped and splayed against the branches.
The doves disappeared. The robin disappeared. The dawn was long gone.
Only the snow remained, showering us with big fat white flakes. The world transformed into a winter wonderland, a place where doves and robins wouldn’t dream of intruding.
“April Fools!” the snow shouted.
The doves rolled their eyes. The robin pecked at the ground. We scurried inside and stoked our woodstove and made spinach-pinto bean enchiladas for dinner.