Winter Life

It's Monday morning and I really, really should be working. This is the downside of an office with a view.

Beyond the deck and the ancient silver maple that gives all these red squirrels and fox squirrels such easy access to our birdfeeder, the hill, pond, and woods all lie deep in snow. Below, I can see the Caribbean-blue sides of the kayak Terry made. Upturned on its rack at the edge of the pond, it waits for spring as I do: patient, steadfast.

To one side of the kayak, the picnic table and a good-sized brush pile are ready for that first fire of spring.

On the other side, the old hen house gives shelter now to paddles and life jackets. Its barn-red siding and the blue of the kayak are the only color against our winter forest, where black walnuts, silver maples, and beech comprise a grey-brown palette for the white-barked skeleton of a sycamore.

No, not much color. But plenty of life.

Next to the pond, the startling yellow of freshly chewed wood: beavers, unfortunately, do not hibernate. Possums do, or so I thought. So we were surprised last week to discover one gobbling at the bird feeder. Gobbling and determined to stay despite Terry's stern invitations to leave. Surprised again a couple of days later to find his carcass staining the path to the feeder. The same shovel used to create that path through the snow now provided a litter to tote the possum's carcass to the woods, where his carbon will return to the landscape that nourished him. The cycle of life and death is natural, yes, but it's difficult not to feel a pang for the ugly little guy.

Also last week, I glanced out the kitchen window to see a red shouldered hawk just a few yards away, lurking on a branch above the suddenly vacated bird feeder. Cardinals, mourning doves, blue jays and juncos all gone. But only momentarily. When the hawk wearied of waiting and flew on, the birds all instantly reappeared.

Like those birds, my work isn't going away. Waiting patiently through the winter of my wandering interest, it is ready to spring to life under the focus of my renewed attention. Time to drop my eyes from the view and get on with it.