zird is the word (lizardek) wrote,
zird is the word
lizardek

  • Mood:
  • Music:

SPRING WHEN THE WORLD IS MUD

The moon a dusty thumbprint in the sky, we follow the blue around the village. Snow is melting all around, but hanging on, hugging the ground. The edges are sun-eaten, lacey, dripping. There are ravens and rooks everywhere, as if this were a battlefield or an old Norse myth. Hugin and Munin, thought and memory. I look sideways at their sharp stabbity beaks and surprisingly small heads for such large birds. They perch atop trees, fenceposts, power lines. Another bird, silent and white, rises above a house as we walk. At first I think it is a seagull because of the color, then a hawk because of the size. It glides without flapping, sweeps in a circle and suddenly we realize it's an owl. I have never seen an owl on the wing, and am flabbergasted to find one here in the late afternoon, over our neighborhood.

These are the wild animals I can sight on any given day in Flyinge: magpies, crows, jackdaws, ravens, rooks and pheasants. A pair of swans, a wedge of geese, a muster of storks stalking spindle-legged behind a tractor. Hedgehogs, often flattened. Once in a while, a hare. Once in a while, a rabbit. Far off in the fields bounds the occasional roe deer. The rest of the small creatures are so infrequent as to be invisible, the large ones the stuff of myth and encyclopedias.

I don't know if it's because I am so acutely aware of the lack of furry creatures in my home that the absence of them seems so glaring everywhere. I miss chipmunks and squirrels, that ubiquitious chattering company. I want to pet something and my children won't hold still.

All around us, the sunshine steams off the snowmelt. The background chorus of songbirds swells into a crescendo: spring is on the way, they sing. I stop and inspect branches, admiring the new jewelry each hedge and tree and bush is sporting: tiny green gems, pearly buds. Martin laments the end of winter; no more snowballs, no more sleds. "Spring springity spring," I warble, and we harmonize on endings and beginnings.
Tags: wonderfulworld
Subscribe

  • LEARNING TO USE A SLINGSHOT

    I have to concentrate on the good things in my daily life, in order to combat all the awful things in the world that I can't do anything about. Or at…

  • GOTLAND, PART THE THIRD: IN WHICH ROCKS PLAY TOO MUCH A PART

    Our last day on Gotland, we decided to head south. When we were there years ago, we stayed in a camping village just south of Visby that includes…

  • LITTLE GOOD THINGS

    I keep feeling like the accumulation of stress, worry, and bad news is going to bury me, and yet, I keep getting up in the morning: to work, to walk,…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 13 comments

  • LEARNING TO USE A SLINGSHOT

    I have to concentrate on the good things in my daily life, in order to combat all the awful things in the world that I can't do anything about. Or at…

  • GOTLAND, PART THE THIRD: IN WHICH ROCKS PLAY TOO MUCH A PART

    Our last day on Gotland, we decided to head south. When we were there years ago, we stayed in a camping village just south of Visby that includes…

  • LITTLE GOOD THINGS

    I keep feeling like the accumulation of stress, worry, and bad news is going to bury me, and yet, I keep getting up in the morning: to work, to walk,…