My dislike for mornings takes a backseat to the birds in the springtime. They go off before my alarm and there’s no snooze button, but I’m OK with that. I love hearing them sing the sun up. Even if I’m not yet fully awake, I listen, and their songs become background music to early morning dreams.
I love spring, nature’s big show. I love the way it forces its way through the curtain of damp, gray darkness that envelopes the Pacific Northwest in the winter. It generally begins near the end of February when our backyard cherry tree blooms.
It starts to snow pink a month later. This year it was the only snow we had.
The clematis on our backyard arbor joined the show, with azaleas pink and orange, and a rhodie way in the background, looking on.
And just yesterday, the first peony bloomed on the bush next to my driveway. Its bright open face was the first thing I noticed as I pulled into home. Bees had already discovered it and I was lucky enough to capture one within moments of leaving the car.
This morning, this same flower was closed up again, but by mid morning it had reopened, with bigger and fluffier (yes, fluffier) bees visiting both it and its neighbors. By evening its petals were starting to droop and by tomorrow I am sure they will begin to drop.
Can you spot the bee in this picture?
And now, it’s evening and I sit on my porch writing. It’s warm enough nearing 9 p.m. to wear short sleeves and no socks. I’ve been here since 7:30 listening to the birds sing the sun down. My dog laid in the yard listening, too.
I wonder if my neighbors are peeping out their windows, wondering what I’m doing, laptop open, sitting in the waning light on my porch. I wonder why they’re not out. One last bird is singing and the frogs are taking up the second chorus.