The storm is upon us, bearing more bluster than moisture, puffing and huffing the lake into whitecaps freckled only with a few sprinkles; but blowing it is, perhaps not a gale but forcibly nevertheless, whipping the water into a froth of peaks and troughs. It is too soon for the March lion to be breathing at the threshold, yet we are reminded of his presence, as if perhaps he is stirring in his sleep.
365Caws is now in its 14th year of publication, and was originally intended to end after 365 days. It has sometimes been difficult for me to find new material, particularly during the winter months, but now as I enter my own twilight years, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to provide daily posts. It is my hope that along the way I may have inspired someone to a greater curiosity about the natural world. If so, I can rest, content in the knowledge that my work here has been done.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Stormy Waters
The storm is upon us, bearing more bluster than moisture, puffing and huffing the lake into whitecaps freckled only with a few sprinkles; but blowing it is, perhaps not a gale but forcibly nevertheless, whipping the water into a froth of peaks and troughs. It is too soon for the March lion to be breathing at the threshold, yet we are reminded of his presence, as if perhaps he is stirring in his sleep.
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