In Bog-watching on April 22, 2014 at 2:16 pm
Peeping the Bog, April 22, 2014
The ice on the bay is as blue as water; the sunset that causes this distortion has fallen into puddles of actual water that have risen above the ice and flare like the sun itself. The transformation—the transgression—is fleeting, but the stun to the senses dissipates only gradually, echoing in the mind, and is felt in the heart long after dark.
In Bog-watching on April 20, 2014 at 2:28 pm
Peeping the Bog, April 20, 2104, Easter Sunday
It is small for an Easter Parade, just two Canada geese strolling down the icy avenue of Puposky Lake. She does not wear a bonnet, he does not sport a top hat, but they know where they are going. They will make their own Easter basket, fill it with their own eggs, each one a birth and a rebirth, an individual and a species, the resurrection of spring manifest in their steady promenade.
In Bog-watching on April 13, 2014 at 4:48 pm
Peeping the Bog: April 13, 2014
The song birds are returning: blackbirds and robins back from their migrations; goldfinches, purple finches, juncos, occasional winter visitors, are back to stay. They come and go from my feeders, back and forth from the oaks and maples on the hillside that are still bereft of any color, the buds of this year’s leaves still cloistered against the intransigence of this particular spring. The bog, too, remains static, though it has swallowed the snow and is certainly harboring, below my line of sight, the insistent shoots of Phalaris arundinacea, reed canary grass.