I was thinking lately that all it does around here is rain.Not complaining, mind you. But when all you see , every day is mud and drip, drip, drip....... Spring seems to be wistfully teasing us. The light is different on the passage, I've noticed. It's one of the signs.
The snow on Mt. Washington is looking tired and worn. Like someone took a hair drier to it's craggy scalp.
My greenhouse is stuffed with dirty pots. That's a sign I need to clean them up. I'm resisting that one.....
Evergreen clematis, in the greenhouse, is shooting up like sparkling alien pods.
Not only is the light changing, the eagles are more visible. Moving about their territory.
And the birds. The birds are noisy. Loud they sing. Frantic in their competition .
Whales will be arriving soon. In a few weeks. There will be signs. Chasing herring. Chasing sea lions. People with cameras chasing all of them.
And the mountains will melt some more.
Those clematis pods will drive me crazy; shooting and sputtering up into the roof. Then they will explode. Just like aliens. White blossoms will be everywhere. One of the signs will be the scent: heady and dark. I'll catch myself standing inside just to catch the aroma.
Cordelia has already come down to the fence more and more. Over winter she tends to hide in her house on the windowsill. She becomes a ghost. She is a ghost no more these days.
Smokey roll about in the sun on the porch. This way......
And that way......
As the eagles sit and watch us puny mortals toddle about.
Water at the estuary is full. Geese have arrived back from winter holidays. I can hear them honking up a storm from the far shore. Must be their form of Twitter....
Pussy willows. Thick and full on the banks . Haven't seen them like this for ages.
Benches at Tyee Spit sit empty in the fog. A sign that they are waiting . For all those tourists.
Trees are sprouting .
Rain clusters on seedy stems.
It's still a lot of sog and bog.
Smokey now gets way up high to see. He likes way up high.
Spencer sings his favourite song: "Singin' in the Rain, just singin' in the.....". He's such a ham.
Smokey would like to be a bird. A hummingbird maybe. Or an eagle......
While I scrub the porch and haul out the pots once again. Scrub scrub away the dirt and green of winter.
Smokey takes his sentry duties seriously......
Bo observes from a polite distance.
And Bunny wistfully wonders what is on the other side of the glass.
Garden pots start to gather. Garden pots to weed.
In the sunset Smokey races to the top of the tree. To see. To watch. To smell.
Waiting for the moment that we all want most. Waiting for another sign....
