It’s spring.  Time flies. Spring ahead. Sorry for the clichés.  It’s easier.  I’m busy.  Bet you are too. That, my friend, is what spring is famous for.  Enjoy it.  I intend to.  And in fact, I do. 

I’ll start with gardens.  I said I wouldn’t but I couldn’t resist. And our friend Bob (another Bob) who will be spending part of the summer here with us is a gardener too, so might as well.  So there I am back and forth with wheelbarrow upon wheelbarrow of horse manure, one more thing that’s both a blessing and a curse, but one I’m glad I have plenty of, and for more than one reason.

And the horses, ah, my beautiful graceful eloquent graceful beings!  To see them begin to shed their winter coats and sleek out for the season.  Bob trims their feet, we begin with ground work, and start to saddle up.  Quickly they remember their manners after the winter off.  They forget nothing, and are surprisingly eager to please.  Moving feels good.  Using their brain doesn’t hurt either.  These are smart creatures with a need for a purpose and a desire to get a job done.  Just watch their attention as they think about the task at hand and slowly shift gears and figure it out. And then we watch the glorious spectacle of them running, finally running, out on pasture, on solid ground, for the first time in so many months, and they do because it feels so sweet and that’s what those long legs are really for, and we dream of being there, on them, with them, riding like the wind, and can’t wait for the trails to open, just a little more melting and drying, and then, yes, we too will be out there riding with them, on them, in the wind, on the wind, of the wind.

And then there were the huge white wings.  Two big white birds.  The only pure white bird I have seen up here before was once a Whooping Crane that I still have trouble believing I actually saw.  And yesterday there were two.  Broad white graceful expanses like angels in the mountains.  They were far away when I sited them, and I never got a good enough look.  I don’t know what they were.  Except beautiful, and some might say a good omen, and that is enough for me.

There’s also the big black bird, I can only guess a cormorant, the closest bird I could find in the book, who was hiding amongst the crows.  Clever disguise.

We know our birds.  Plenty of seasons for plenty of years alone with them, feeding, watching, singing back and forth, our only neighbors for the better part of the year.  Out there, in there, with them. When you know your regular birds so well, an unusual exotic new one stands out and is quite noticeable.  We noticed.

I’m getting long winded here and haven’t covered half of what I wanted to share. Time to get out there and get things done!  I’ll save the rest for tomorrow…

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