Pear flower buds
I am riding my bike past Turtle Lake watching coots skim blue water when a large shadow strobe-lights the road ahead of me. I look up. White head, white tail, body a black feathery bullet, dihedral wings (Col taught me that term; it means inclined upward). Bald eagle. First: the requisite full body turned inside out gawking lucky awe. Second: I can’t wait to tell Dan.
Back home, I sling my bike in the shed. I pretend for a moment that this sighting is the singular headline of the day, the most important news to convey. With swift Mama-ninja mind tricks, I elbow out the competing stories: the unfinished taxes, outstanding dental bill, upcoming homeschool co-op day still to plan, ultra-pricey orthodonture in our future, groceries needed, who’s driving which kid where, Rose’s 64 pieces of easter candy that she fondles daily, we’re almost out of toilet paper!
Spring is like living inside a constant all points bulletin, except y’know, about evening grosbeaks SPOTTED IN THE CRAB APPLES, and apricot fruit MAKING AT THE SMILEY BUILDING and WHERE are the white crowned sparrows? Yesterday I found new carrot seedlings lifting two green arms to the sun. Daily, we watch crows, house finches, magpies and scrub jays scoop up sticks, deer hair and chicken feathers from our yard, off to shore up secretive nests. The evening grosbeaks descend every morning, a numerous club of yellow- and black-suited members, taking voracious shifts at our feeders.
This is the news.
Our peach tree is in full, fancy pink bloom; honeybees are back in business. The plum blossoms have emerged like twinkling, white daytime stars. The hops, elderberry, lemonbalm and rhubarb are popping out like electric green currents charged by the earth. Maybe spring is about hope, or maybe it’s simply about keeping your eyes open, believing this world is worth our attention.