|Bareness in the morning mist|
Pleinchamps.com says that it is 9° with 81% humidity this morning in our department. I don't think, however, that they are using our neighborhood as the reference point. I stepped out the door this morning to take the photo, and I saw the mist swirling in front of my eyes, like the finest rain. It was probably moving down toward the ground, but I can't be certain.
There is also a field backed by a line of trees out past the ones you can distinguish in my photo. I know they are there because they were yesterday. And all the days before. And, it was quiet last night. No one came and bulldozed them into the general whiteness that contrasts so strongly with the bright sunshine of only two days ago.
The birds are quiet, too, concentrated on building their nests with whatever is lying about. I am hoping the new, bright blue tarp on the lovelier named petite maison than it is in reality, protecting the walls and furniture from the rain that collects in the soggy, ruined roof, won't catch their eye like the old green one did. I thought it was just the combined elements of rain, wind and sunshine that destroyed it, until I found so many birds' nests made of it as I pruned last year. It was ideal camouflage for them, up in their trees and shrubs. Bright blue, let us hope, might be a recognizable thing to avoid in their nest building habits.
Although, I have found red thread, or string, in another's moss nest. Christmas decorations, no doubt.
The narcissus is nearly in bloom over in its corner, seen through the swirling fine mist. I cut down the largest branches of a small tree, shrubby sort of thing just beyond it that produces lovely flowers in May, leaving the stump in place. Partly because it is hard to remove. Partly because I am sort of hoping a reasonably sized bush will develop and offer us its flowers again.
Today, though, I am heading off to take a horse to the farm where she will continue the convalescence of a foot bone she broke, kicking her wall after a good exercise session and a vigorous roll, some ten weeks ago, so she can get back to the business of training and racing. For now, she is frisky, having spent all that time shut up in her box, with a special shoe to protect her healing bone. I am looking forward to stopping by the yard, even for a few minutes; the garden and guilt from the lack of accomplissement of my various home renovation duties have kept me away from the people, the horses, and -- while I can still say it -- my Elbow Beach, or half of her, anyway.
|The Collared Doves favorite trees,|
a Tulip tree for sitting and Bay Laurel for nesting