I've been listening the past few weeks while working outdoors to the titmouse coming closer and closer. Just before the New Year the bird call was just a hint of a sound. Titmouse? is what I asked myself, when breaking a snow trail between the studio and the cottage. Stop the stomp of boots sound. Wait. There it is, yes, the titmouse. The first thing on my mind is an overpowering feeling of Spring. I'm not inexperienced or nuts enough to think spring is due any moment now. By near February there are at least one or two layers left of winter. Maybe a blizzard to fit in. Definitely mud season and heavy snow to whip us around or break the backs of some folks having both deep mud and deep snow all at the same time. Like a circle of dogs biting and fighting and storming right for you and rolling right over you. Poor you.
So instead, be comforted by the titmouse, the winter sound of spring, since spring is only and always around the corner.
Today as I lugged armloads and armloads of split black birch, oak and rock maple from one stash pile to another stash pile which is only little pit-stops to an overall huge woodshed of wood, the titmouse seemed right on the edge of the woods. Nearly behind my ear. Looking westward, see the hillside actually showing some bare ground under the tallest trees and softwoods. That's what comes after two days of rain and then more sunshine. The dooryard where we live still has over a foot of snow.
Yesterday when Sweetheart drove to town to do errands it was sunny and benign, almost boring. Wait five minutes. Here comes a snowfall out of who knows where, with snowflakes as large as tree leaves it seemed. Quite ephemeral, willing to pass-on at any second. I picked up our kitten Cutie-Pie and carried him out in my arms to let him have a look and feel of it all. And all & all.
photo © bob arnold