Marsh mallow

Pink flowers ride waves of marsh mallow. I can see them from my window, pin pricks of cotton candy or gumballs or jelly beans. Of course, were I to vacate my perch on the couch and brave the humid morning, I could examine them closely, not like a scientist but rather a poet watching each delicate petal wisp in the wind and painting its image with water color words. I've always wanted to learn to paint.

Happy Marsh Messages

Apparently we have been sending out happy marsh messages and all the wildlife in the neighborhood has responded. This morning several goose and duck families decided to stop by for breakfast

Poet Not

So are poets born, souls disconnected from them-selves and destined to ride the wind like helicopters shed by spring maples? Or are they made by wind and rain and creeping floods? Are they a different race, one born of red-bellied woodpeckers and mother cardinals, forever destined to view life through a microscopic lens dusted with faerie-weather? Or are they pressed together in the bowls of the earth where heat evokes a denizen of the deep who bends and shapes limbs and hearts? I do not know. Such questions are too lofty for me, for surely I am a simple man and a poet not.

Devil Wind

The Wind
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you
But when the leaves stand trembling
The wind is passing through
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by
Christina Rosetti

Devil wind, you quarantine me in this stale air where I can hardly breathe and I feel the summertime sickness drawing over me.

Oh for the summertime; sweet, sweet summertime. I grow pale here, wasting away with my wishing for your abundant flowers and sunshine. But for that nasty wind, I would venture into the yard and rake 'til I could see green grass sprouting from the thawing land. I would turn my face into your tender rays, pretending I was warm, which I am, though wooly.

But alas the razor edges of the wind’s nails screech across the marsh and whip my hair into frenzy. And so I cower here, peruse my island zines, and convalesce.

Goose Nests and Ginko

Its cold.

The geese are hiding in the long grass, although I am not sure how warm that must be. All prickly and wet. It floods you know. Today the ground is frozen, but yesterday the mud was thick. If I were a goose, I would build a nest out of the flood zone. I'd line it with down and put it in the sun. I am not sure how swift Henrietta is though. I hope she took notice of the floods earlier this spring. I hope she watched the waterline with a keen eye. Every year her babies wash down the river in the rains. Its hard work being a goose. Maybe a little ginko-biloba would help. I could sprinkle it on her daily ration of cracked corn.

She is a sweet thing, Henrietta, not very bright though. Maybe it was the bad experience she had the year the snake tried to eat her eggs. She built a sturdy nest under the bushes next to the front door and had a run in with a slithering black serpent. I wonder if her babies lived. I didn't live here then. All I know is the previous owner heard her screaming and dispatched the snake. I guess she learned her lesson. Don't build houses by front doors.

She has exhibited learned behavior. She and Henry both dive completely under the water to bathe these days. I believe that is very unusual behavior for a goose. I think they learned it from the hooded mergansers who zip around out there diving for dinner and bobbing back to the surface to shake their little white heads and clear their ears--if they have ears.

Regardless, Henrietta needs to find a place to nest. Last year when the waters rose, I considered rowing out to rescue the eggs, but I wasn't sure how kindly my goose friend would take to egg thievery or if she would accept the little round wombs back into the fold.

I think, this year, I will put a big sign in the yard with a red arrow pointing to the hill where the day-lilies bloom (her feed cup is red, maybe she will associate the color with food) and if she dosent get the message, maybe I will build her nest myself. I'll line it with feathers from my favorite pillow and set it where the goslings can see the morning sun.

They're Baack!

Henry and Henrietta arrived today. I heard them hollering in the backyard, hungry from the long trip. Who knows where they have been? Or how long was the flight? I have a bag of corn I've been keeping for this special occasion. The only trouble is, its been in the garage.

I got the plastic red cup the couple recognizes and filled it to the brim. The corn looked good. Henry waddled right up when I called his name. There wasn't even any hissing. I poured some grain into my hand, just a little mind you, and held it out for him to inspect. He smotched it up right quick. I guess the long absence hasn't had any adverse effects on our relationship. Henrietta, as always held back, coy and waiting for me to throw her some.


I scooped out another handful and opened my palm and there smack in the middle of the golden kernels was a round black shiny spider! We DO have black widows in our garage. I threw the feed aside and stepped away thinking maybe geese like to eat spiders or maybe they would let the little bugger crawl away and then dig in. But apparently Henry sensed my aversion to the treat. He too backed away and left the food untouched. An hour later when I looked for my feathered friends they were no where to be found. I was a little sad and hoped I had not scared them off. They have been nesting here for four years now.

Not to worry, another hour and they were back again. This time I carefully inspected lunch and this time my two Canadian friends indulged. Its good to have them home again.

Here's to you Henry and Henrietta. May your eggs not get washed away by the flood this year!

Plethora

It’s cold and the ground is crinkly and frozen. A French lady pokes through the leaves looking for breakfast, a few scattered seeds or maybe a worm sticking its head out of the earth to see if its spring yet. Fat juncos flit about wearing sleek gray coats over fluffy white bellies. They are so plenty and small,the ground itself seems to move. Their tiny yellow beaks bob up and down as they too hunt for breakfast. Then suddenly at some unseen cue, they rise up together in a Hitchcock mass and off into the bushes.

Two cow ducks fly over, their black and white wings remind me of an optical illusions puzzle and this one more difficult for the flying. A laughing gull soars high over head and at a less altitude a mallard wings in the opposite direction. Poor little ducky, where are his friends?

A loan robin sits in a tree, his red tummy round with winter’s bounty. Here in the south the robins, unfortunately, do not herald spring, just more of the same dip- below temperatures. At least the sun is shining.

A blue jay hops and nods his merry head high in the branches of a tulip tree. And higher still a steely raptor rumbles shaking the ground with its massive engines while practicing swooping maneuvers like some teenage falcon.

Out on the marsh a jewel headed mallard lazes about with his three duck harem and a hooded merganser drifts by in the slow flow of the creek, idling sideways and waiting for little fish to beckon him under the water whose surface bears upside-down branches of sycamore trees. What looks suspiciously like a piece of ice floats by.

A trio of ducks cup their wings and come in for a landing in goose territory. The gees have not flown. It’s still early. The sun warms the ground where a russet wren plays merry-go-round at the base of a cedar and a tufted titmouse lands in the magnolia, finding shade in its great leaves and a few leftover seeds.

Birds seen this morning

Mourning Dove
Slate Colored Junco
Canada Goose
Mallard
Hooded Merganser
Yellow Bellied Sapsucker
Great Blue Heron
Killdeer
Belted Kingfisher
Red Bellied Woodpecker
American Crow
Blue Jay
Carolina Wren
Tufted Titmouse
American Robin
Muscovy
American Goldfinch
F-22 Raptor