Perched on a sage brush, he heralds spring.
I walked this morning through open hills
behind the house. April means spring, and
signs of spring are muddy boots,
blackbirds on the phone wire,
meadowlark song, and the smell of sage.
I hear the first meadowlark in early March,
even though in some years such as this one,
snow still covers everything.
It's gone now except for a bank on the north
side of the house. The Ruby mountains,
though, are white except for deep
blue ridges and rocky ledges.
Sage scented the air, so
temperatures must have been above 32.
You can't smell much, I've noticed,
when temps are really low.
Every part of the country
has it's own peculiar odor.
I've grown partial to sage's
subtle perfume, stronger after rain.
A meadowlark offered his gurgly song.
I spotted him perched tiptop a tall sage
silhouetted against the horizon.
Hard to see because the song carried
far on our dry desert air.
It's too early for wildflowers. Soon, though,
butercups will add their shiny gold spots to
a bluegreen landscape. I wonder if this
will be a year for the tiger lily?
I spotted it farther up the trail a few
years ago and it doesn't bloom every year.
Its bell-shaped puple flowers,
spotted greenish-yellow, peek from
beneath a sage brush by the path.
It surprised me the first time.
It's tiny and an unusual flower for
these hills. I see buttercups, lupine, and
sticky phlox, but the lily blooms infrequently,
only in a wet year.
Clouds that were on the mountain when I started
this morning now hang over the valley.
Snow sputters my glasses. Wonder if
I dare hang clothes on the line when I get
home? Maybe foolish today.
I hate to use the dryer, but perhaps this isn't
such a good day for hanging. Too bad,
because I love the smell on the clothes. The smell...
Another sign of spring.
behind the house. April means spring, and
signs of spring are muddy boots,
blackbirds on the phone wire,
meadowlark song, and the smell of sage.
I hear the first meadowlark in early March,
even though in some years such as this one,
snow still covers everything.
It's gone now except for a bank on the north
side of the house. The Ruby mountains,
though, are white except for deep
blue ridges and rocky ledges.
Sage scented the air, so
temperatures must have been above 32.
You can't smell much, I've noticed,
when temps are really low.
Every part of the country
has it's own peculiar odor.
I've grown partial to sage's
subtle perfume, stronger after rain.
A meadowlark offered his gurgly song.
I spotted him perched tiptop a tall sage
silhouetted against the horizon.
Hard to see because the song carried
far on our dry desert air.
It's too early for wildflowers. Soon, though,
butercups will add their shiny gold spots to
a bluegreen landscape. I wonder if this
will be a year for the tiger lily?
I spotted it farther up the trail a few
years ago and it doesn't bloom every year.
Its bell-shaped puple flowers,
spotted greenish-yellow, peek from
beneath a sage brush by the path.
It surprised me the first time.
It's tiny and an unusual flower for
these hills. I see buttercups, lupine, and
sticky phlox, but the lily blooms infrequently,
only in a wet year.
Clouds that were on the mountain when I started
this morning now hang over the valley.
Snow sputters my glasses. Wonder if
I dare hang clothes on the line when I get
home? Maybe foolish today.
I hate to use the dryer, but perhaps this isn't
such a good day for hanging. Too bad,
because I love the smell on the clothes. The smell...
Another sign of spring.
