Springtime is the time for hatchlings at the Schiller Park pond. Today I noticed three new goslings being chaperoned by the entire flock of resident Canadian geese. The adult geese are loud, obnoxious, constantly crapping pains in the behind, but their fuzzy, tumbling offspring are cute as the dickens.
Photographs are great, but their inherent limitations mean they can’t possibly capture everything special about a moment.
As I was walking around Schiller Park the other morning, the branches of a beautiful old tree were backlit by the first glimmers of dawn, the air was crisp but not too cold, birds were chirping, mallards and ducks were muttering to each other as they waddled past on the lawn, and the promise of growing things was everywhere evident. When I noticed the scene I realized with a jolt that spring may finally be here, and I savored the moment, enough to stop and take a picture.
It’s a nice picture, but it really doesn’t do justice to the moment. Of course, when spring does come after an overlong winter, you don’t want to see it in pictures, you want to get outside and enjoy it with every sense and fiber of your being.
We put out our patio furniture cushions and umbrella in hopes that it would encourage the temperamental weather gods to finally send us some true, warm, spring-like weather, so we can actually enjoy the patio again after months of wintry inactivity.
Instead, the weather gods wrathfully decided to punish our hopeful gesture. Last night we got a snow storm, and right now it’s 28 degrees out.
One of these days we’ll learn not to mess with the weather gods.
After this cold, dank, never-ending winter, a sighting of the first flowers heralding spring is very welcome. These hardy crocuses, which are traditionally among the first flowers to bloom in our region, sprouted between two bricks to greet the sun’s rays on a dazzling day.
It is wonderful to see a splash of bright color and sunshine after months of wintry gloom.
I was treated to this beautiful autumn scene of fallen, and falling, leaves on my way to work this morning. Unfortunately, it was about 26 freaking degrees and a bone-chilling arctic gale was blowing, too.
This illustrates the hard reality of our modern “seasons.” There is no fall anymore, not the kind that we remember — when the sky was clear and bright and dry, the temperatures were in the 50s, leaves crunched underfoot, and sweaters were the apparel of choice. There’s no spring, either. Just hot summer and cold winter, with about a week separating them on each end.
Too bad . . . I liked autumn.
You can argue about the season in which rural Ohio is at its best. Throw out winter — of course! — and you could argue endlessly about the lush springs, the blue sky summer days, and the colors and tastes of autumn.
Spring, of course, has its own colors — they’re just more subtle. Standing on Cousin Jeff’s elevated deck, looking out at the trees and plants and fallen pine needles and grass, you see just about every shade of green you can imagine. Couple it with cool air that smells of growing plants and bright songs from a number of different birds, and you’ve got a feast for the senses.
Kermit the Frog would fit right in.
This year, in Columbus, Ohio, spring has been a fickle creature. After a few flirtatious days of warm weather and sunshine, we’ve endured days of gloomy cold and wind and rain that felt like we were right back on the edge of winter.
Today, at least, dawned clear and bright, but very chilly. It’s one of those days where the shadows seem especially deep and dark, and the relative temperature feels like it increases about 20 degrees when you walk through a shaft of sunlight.
It’s refreshing, I suppose, but I’m ready for spring to arrive in earnest — and stick around.