Pumping Water

Colors of winter

Pumping water . . . a simple chore . . . it takes five minutes . . . but I pause . . . to hear the geese squabble on the new pond in the field across the street, from the snow runoff.  The crows caw about this or that.  Sandhill cranes . . . how loud they are when close by . . . are demanding to have their space.  The blue jays, of course, chime in.   And, a cardinal, atop the tallest tree, chest out, is filling the space with its lilting song.  Spring is in the air today.

They are all front and center against the muted browns, grays, tans, and white of winter.  Graceful, bare trees silhouetted against the milky sky this cloudy day show off their branches and trunks.  They look particularly beautiful at night when the moon is out . . . or when the clouds are full of snow.  I hold onto the sight not ready for the new leaves that will be coming soon.  The new snow, although a day old, still holds tight to a few trees adding a delicate, white icing.

And, it is back to . . . pumping water.

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