March 31: Easter flowers

In the front yard, petite snowdrop-like flowers have punched their way through dead leaves in their vernal fervor to reach sunlight. I tore away several leaves that were still whole except for the little hole through which the surprisingly strong flower bud made its escape to the surface--driven what the great poet Dylan Thomas described as "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower."

We all feel it, that urge,
to turn our faces to vernal sunlight,
reawakened.

March 30: Feels like spring

At last, a beautiful day that feels like spring. We head to Weskeag Marsh to see what birds have newly arrived, but the tide is high, the river banks filled to the brim, and we only see a single Great Blue Heron and a pair of crows.

Elsewhere, though, titmice, cardinals, and House Finches fill the mild air with song. Walking the boardwalk along the edge of Rockland Harbor, we hear pigeons cooing under our feet, tucked away in dank love nests under the walkway, presumably above the high water line. And in the harbor itself, close to shore, some drake eiders also coo, pitching the woo to the russet hens.

Driving home, we watch a crow fly over Route One with a long twig in its bill, presumably working on a  nest. Love is in the air. And that particular excitement we all feel this time of year when a day like this makes us feel certain that someday soon the snow will all melt, the ice will leave the ponds, and slowly, leaf buds will unfurl.

Heron hunched, alone,
the whole marsh to itself.
Soon, says the blue sky.

March 29: Geese

When I arrived at work this morning, the air was filled with the sound of honking: two pairs of geese were railing at each other in what seemed to be a territorial dispute. Last year, a pair nested along the river near the Seabright Dam, and I wondered if they had returned to defend their former spot.

No more ice.
Geese defend
last year's nesting site.

March 28: Crocuses

On an errand in town, I passed a phalanx of blooming crocuses, an unexpected blanket of purples, whites, and yellows amid the still-melting patches of dirty snow. Such a boon for the eyes.

Crocuses bloom
despite lingering snow.
Some things can't be stopped.

March 27: Crows at dusk

I left the house at dusk, and as I walked to the car, heard a large flock of crows cawing loudly up on the mountain. The birds were not visible. What they were yelling at was not visible. Just a clamor in the rising dark on a dreary evening.

Twilight on the mountain.
Calling of unseen crows.
Anxiety settles in.

March 26: Moonlight

Woke at an early hour to see the setting moon shining through the window directly at me, like a spotlight...

Setting moon,
in the dark before dawn
we see eye to eye.

March 24: New butterfly

Spent a good portion of today at the lovely Naples Botanical Gardens, which features tropical gardens of this (Floridian) latitude around the world. The Children's Garden features a screened-in butterfly garden with many native Florida species, including the striped Zebrawings, bright orange Julias (to the delight of a little girl named Julia), Monarchs, Queens, Gulf Frittilaries, several swallowtails, and Viceroys.

 

A docent showed us a case full of chrysalises from which various species had or were going to hatch, including a freshly hatched Painted Lady whose wings were just drying and "coming to life." While we were there, she (it's hard not to ascribe the female gender to a butterfly called a "lady") flapped her wings for the first time and then eventually made her first stuttering flights, finally disappearing among the leaves of a flowering shrub.

 

Newly hatched butterfly--

Ah, to be reborn

with bright wings!

 

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March 23: Dining on the beach

Back in Naples at the Vanderbilt Beach Resort, which features one of Naples more popular fine dining options, the Turtle Club. We dined at an outside table, literally on the sand, within sight and sound of the crashing surf. We learned that the lighting was so dim out there--stars were clear and bright overhead--to conform to rules which govern outside lighting during sea turtle nesting season from May through October. When turtles come up on the beach to lay their eggs (and presumably when the baby turtles hatch), they can be disoriented by bright lights and head for them instead of back into the ocean.

 

Under the moonlight,

line of surf glows offshore

while we eat.

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March 22: Beach of shells

Spent a few hours at the beach on Sanibel today, one of the premiere shelling beaches. While Paul fished the turquoise waters, I waded, looked for shells, and watched turnstones and other shorebirds wander unafraid among the human visitors, the birds seeming just as interested in the ever-shifting mounds of shells as we were.

 

Each wave sweeps in

fresh shells for me

and sandpipers to pick through.

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March 21: Pelicans

Birding today at Ding Darling NWR on Sanibel Island. As the tide ebbed in the mangrove-edged inlet, white pelicans and other birds flew onto the exposed flats. The pelicans are very huge and very white, especially when seen next to other birds.

 

Opening in the sun,

pelican's translucent bill.

Thin-skinned, all of us.

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March 19: Alligators

My three-year-old niece asks if the alligator soaking up sun at the side of the path at Shark Valley in Everglades National Park is smiling. It looks like it is, after all. And perhaps it is, knowing it outlived the dinosaurs, knowing it could easily eat us.

 

Big alligator lounging--

nothing to fear

but a cold spell.

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