Although we moved into this house almost a year ago, Sue and I still haven't put a curtain up on our bedroom window. My office and our bedroom occupy the garret, my office facing west on to King Edward, and our bedroom facing east on to the houses along Henderson. The east window is small and shaded by a large, norway maple in the summer. At this time of year, however, we can see night giving way to morning in the eastern sky. In the past week, it has brightened well before our alarm. I lay in bed this morning, watching the pale gold and green of approaching dawn, torn between the warm body beside me and the temptation of a new day.
The sun came out three days ago, bringing us some very crisp days. I won't say that winter has returned, because the signs of pending spring still appear all around us. Yes, the canal looks as solidly frozen as in January, but the NCC has begun to pull up the stairs. The City has begun blasting keys in the on the Rideau River to prevent ice jams and flooding. The chickadees call more insistently. The buds continue to swell. I received my first report of a red wing blackbird (although I haven't yet heard one myself). I sense that we will see a quickening of the changes once this cold spell snaps later in the week.
Even so, I have been looking enviously at the photographs of friends and other bloggers from warmer climes. My friend Talar is working for SENES in Oman, and she recently posted photos of a trip into the desert and mountains. I've worked on the other side of those same mountains, in the Emirates. Margarethe Brummermann posted photographs of her latest trip into Catalina State Park, which reminded very much of my trip to the Mojave National Preserve two years ago. Now I'm pining for desert.
Oh, well... in a few weeks, I'll be pulling my canoe down from the top of the shed in preparation for a fishing trip to Algonquin Park. Algonquin Park in May won't be quite as warm as Oman or Arizona, but it will much more green.
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