This crow quilt, made a couple of Marches ago as part of the year's journal quilt project, depicts what I'm feeling as I wait very impatiently for the real coming of spring. I added the rhododendrons in the header just to remind myself that they do burst out in May. About six weeks from now .. long, long weeks when I will be up early as usually but will hear the crows announcing their daily plans from trees nearby. They are usually the first birds I hear, with their rhythmic caws that I'm sure are location signals to all their friends and neighbors. The grass is still mostly brown but bits of green are showing -- the snow has melted into the earth, all we need is some more sunny days. But, oh, where are the crocuses? Where are the daffodils? I'm impatient as are most of my friends and neighbors after a hard winter (remnant piles of dirty snow remain but they're melting on the margins of parking lots.)
After the crows comes the whining, complaining mewling of the gulls -- some nest on the flat roof of the building I live in. I like to watch them glide and sweep but I don't like their voices. While the crows aren't beautiful singers and merely purposeful fliers, they have an honesty about their town crier voices. Gulls sound like spoiled brats. Soon, soon, I think, the little birds will be back, the ones that sing and flit. And then the Canadian geese will return in their morning squadrons to spend an hour to three on the lawn. Like the crows, they have honest voices, theirs are like traffic police, "out of the way, we're landing!" They don't talk to each other while they're here, communication must be entirely in body language.
I welcome the morning guests, aural and visible. I suppose those imperious, grand old men-like turkeys might march across the yard now and then and certainly the squirrels will be out and about scuttling in their nervous way. Right now the sun is shining although rain is predicted. I'll take whatever the sky gives me but i WANT warmth and flowers.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!