Anna Maria Island, FL

Horton Park

Seminary Ave.

Hamline Hi-Rise & Horton Park (image from University of Minnesota West Bank)

When I walked out the door this morning, I was greeted by the wet-earth scent of spring rain, though the sidewalk was dry and rain wasn't forecast until after noon. All over the neighborhood, I saw signs that spring is no longer tentatively poking its nose around winter's corner, but has stepped decidedly onto the scene. Many of the early trees have open flowers, from the ash on the corner to the richly-colored, delicately frilly ruby blossoms of the scarlet jewel red maple. Rounding the curve in the path in front of the Friends School, I spotted the season's first crocus out of the corner of my eye and doubled back to snap a photo. After dropping most of it's first crop of catkins a couple of days ago, one of the parent trees in the stand of quaking aspen was sporting several fuzzy new buds. I had the gentle thrill of being on the spot as I was able to submit a Nature's Notebook observation that one of the smaller stems in the stand had 3-10 breaking leaf buds, which had opened up since yesterday morning. Farther down the path, I was greeted by a familiar avian companion. I recognized her as probably the same finch that graced many walks last spring with her song from the top of one tree or another in the park. Though I seem to know her as an individual, my non-existent bird identification skills mean I am unable to name her more specifically than probably some sort of finch. Returning home, I found that several tiny leaves on the neighbor's lilacs had fully unfurled; tiny, yet truly formed versions of their summer selves.

Seminary Ave.

A tamarack's brown button buds have popped into tiny green crowns, perhaps fit for a queen bee.

Horton Park

On the liminal moments between day and night:
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“Midmorning, just as the last tendrils of sea fog melt off the meadow and are caught in the fingers of the firs.” (p. 217)

“The dusk deepens infinitesimally minute by minute, as if someone was adding grains of darkness to the bowl of brimming light on the field,” (p. 237)

“She watches the sun rise from the porch. It hints at itself first and then announces itself melodramatically and finally arrives brilliant and searing between two young pine trees like two green fingers pinching fire.” (p. 260 )

Sunrise ripples across clouds in bands of pink and blue. Gazing up from below, I wonder if this is what a fish sees when the setting sun stretches across the waves.

Horton Park