It is Springtime in New Hampshire. The phoebe arrived in our yard on Saturday while I was away. Srini noted its arrival. I heard its familiar raspy phoe-be yesterday while hanging out laundry on a 75 degree day.
Earlier, on our morning walk, we saw the slender crescent moon rising just before sunrise as it heads toward new moon this week. While we gazed at the stars and the moon and the growing light we listened to the now daily woodcock peents. A turkey gobbled from the hardwoods on Bald Hill. The great horned owl hooted from the big pines along the wetland edge. Mallards quacked to each other from the wetland and a band of spring peepers joined the dawn chorus.
Today, we celebrate the vernal equinox, with equal parts night and day, when the sun rises due east and sets due west. Although to be precise, apparently there is already a little more day than night on the first day of spring. And more daylight to celebrate each day forward.
I messed around in the yard today. It felt good, although a little early, to be working on my garden rows. The soil is so dry I can transplant the rhubarb and plant cilantro. As warm as it will be this week--80s for three days in a row--watering is required. In March!
As I was gardening, a pair of red-shouldered hawks circled and soared overhead, their loud, clear keeyuur keeyuur calls to each other drew my attention skyward.
It is Springtime.