March 31: Neighbors

Crows have discovered

the neighbors' compost bin.

Here, we feed finches.

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March 30: The hawk counter's dreams

Even in her sleep

she sees swirling kettles

of vultures overhead.

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March 29: Hawk Watch

Spent several hours on Bradbury Mountain this afternoon at the Spring Hawk Watch there that's sponsored by my friends at Freeport Wild Bird Supply. The air felt postively springlike for a while; teens were showing up at the summit in shorts and tank tops. Several eagles, red-tails, vultures, and other raptors cruised overhead, along with other migrants--robins, Great Blue Herons, and geese. Before I realized, several hours had passed.

 

Distracted by hawks,

I forget for awhile

the lingering chill.

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March 28: Spring Snowy Owl

Birded Scarborough Marsh this morning. Despite the remnants of snow and a lingering chill, spring waterfowl--geese and ducks--are returning at last, courting and displaying on the rising waters of the spring marsh. And yet, two Snowy Owls linger during this season on the cusp...

 

Ducks return to the marsh.

And yet, Arctic owls linger

in melting snow.

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March 26: Big wind

Just a dusting of snow here in Penobscot Bay. East and inland from here they're getting serious snow today, which I'm happy to miss. But bone-chilling, gale-force gusts have certainly livened the day, transforming the air into a dynamic, roaring creature intent on eating us whole.

We freeze in our tracks--
March's untamed lion roars,
flings itself at us.

March 25: Pierced ears

Ah, the old rites of passage... My seven-year-old niece got her ears pierced!

A sign of spring:
little gold studs
in newly pierced ears.

March 24: Early spring

Wind lifts the prayer flags--

will our prayers

rise in this cold air?

March 23: Morning star

Unable to sleep

my husband finds comfort

in Venus.

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March 22: Spring alarm clock

Awakened not by the cat

but by juncos trilling

under the bedroom window.

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March 21: Closer to home

A friend writes with concerns about world politics.

My focus these days
is on the patch of snow growing,
melting outside my window.

March 20: Vernal Equinox

Hard spring rain.

At least the cardinal

sounds happy.

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March 19: The night before spring begins

No woodcocks twittering

in the frozen alders,

no pussy willow buds.

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March 18: Snowshine

Sun shining on snow--

I squint, dazzled by snowshine,

but I'm still cold.

March 17: Vulture

At this point
any sign of spring will do.
A vulture soaring? Yes.

March 16: Forced forsythia

Forced or freed?

Forsythia bough blooms

in the spring of our kitchen.

 

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March 15: In memory of Phoebe

Tonight's full moon

lights a candle on the snow

to honor her memory.

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March 14: Lo, on high, yon Bald Eagle!

The crows are pissed
but my spirits soar in blue skies
with that eagle.

Do you see the eagle waaaay up in the sky?

March 13: Life in a snow globe

We watched slides of Mexico

from inside

the shaken snow globe.

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March 12: Cloning extinct species

Sleet streaks my window.

Eyes closed, I try to 

imagine living mammoths.

I read today in the New York Times Magazine about a fascinating project to restore extinct animals. Something about trying to bring mammoths and Passenger Pigeons back into an overdeveloped world undergoing global warming troubles me. So many species still here simply require some care and conservation attention to not go extinct: endangered Piping Plovers being run off beaches, prairie chickens being closed out of habitat by cattle ranchers, white rhinos in Africa, right whales, elephants...

I know, I'm no fun for thinking this way. Where's my creative spirit? We killed them off, but we can bring them back! But this, to me, doesn't seem all that different from Monsanto's genetically engineered corn. 

March 11: Slowly the lawn is revealed

Slowly the dirty snowpack in the back yard is melting around the edges, a receding glacier. Slowly the edges of the lawn are revealed--as well as dozens of sticks and branches blown from the trees during this winter's several storms, sticking up out of the snow like black claws.

Branches reach out of snow
all over the lawn.
I dreamed zombies chased me.

March 11: Dabbling ducks

Oh, the painful illusion that spring might be coming soon. A day in the 40s highlighted by sunshine and birdsong, to be followed by another messy snowstorm tomorrow... A season on the cusp. The ducks, however, work with whatever they're given.

Before the next storm
ducks dabble in snowmelt
on the frozen lawn.

March 10: Returning

Black ducks fly
up the frozen river to roost.
Still light at six.

March 9: Conjunction

After a class on relics at the Jung Center of Maine and dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant, thinking of vestiges of the ancient world still with us, like reminders of the classic Greek and Roman gods and goddesses.

 

Through willow's arching boughs,

the Moon and Jupiter

come close but don't touch.

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March 8: We open a window for the first time this year

Cat in the open window

after a long winter--

sniffing, sniffing the world.

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March 7: Mill sunset

Sunset's rosy glow--

even the peeling old smokestack

is radiant.

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March 6: Starry starry night

After a day spent
huddled inside, I step out
under all those stars!

March 5: Found in a snow drift

Milkweed pod--

an empty boat

drifting to winter's end.

March 4: At the window

Cardinal pauses
in his eating, watches me
for a long time.

March 3: Scarborough Marsh

In the frozen saltmarsh
nothing moves
but three foraging crows.

March 2: Portland, from the fish piers

You don't notice

the cold so much

with that many gulls to watch.

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March 1: A friend's new work space

Gardens, yes,

but in winter, also,

a glimpse of the sea.

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