April Showers

... bring May flowers. I don't remember how many times my mother repeated that familiar phrase during my childhood. It helped me wait patiently through the too-brown, overcast, grey days of spring when vibrant blossoms were still a distant memory from the previous year.

Today I rose after a long night of rain to my first outcropping of nightcrawlers and angleworms. A moist, earthy smell filled the air. Our small pond, now deeper, attracts the geese to its banks daily. There they circle on the waters and plunge their beaks into the rich, dark, mucky earth that lines the edges and bottom of their miniature lake. They pluck at roots and detritus, shaking their discoveries into the water, nipping and nibbling, contributing more ingredients to the muddy broth.

For over a week now Frances and I've raked leaves off our small flower gardens and out of the ditches where daffodil and tulip bulbs and other indeterminate greenery poke their heads up through the earth. Several days ago Frances pointed out a tulip that pierced through a pile of leaves to reach light. It was quite the sight; pointed green leaves growing straight up through the center of dry, brown oak leaves left lying from last year's treefall.

Bird calls emanate from every direction. Spring peepers sing at the end of our drive and along Emil Road where wetlands are more prolific. A pileated woodpecker appeared to Frances today. The day before two birds--a purple finch and a chickadee--flew to our patio door, sat on the back of a folding lawn chair, and stared straight through the glass at us as we sat in the living room. Finally Frances said knowingly, "Oh, they're telling us that we need to fill the feeder...."

Sounds and sights and smells are everywhere. And tomorrow ... May flowers.