I wrote this 10 years ago today. St Patrick's day is tomorrow. Memory, how it lingers. I was buzzed by the bumblebee then. As well the pianist and I counted fourteen seals in the harbor waiting for the spawning herring.Four lazy swimmers and ten treading water, sharp little snouts up in the air skyward sniffing the breeze for the return of their prey. The Bufflehead ducks are weaving in and out of the waiting seals, taking the small minnows that the seals ignore.
The Indian Plum was then in full flower and the Alder catkins were a cloud of red-brown in the background. The raspberries and the loganberries had started to leaf and the rhubarb was poking out through the leaf mold. The gooseberries and black currents were leafed as well but the red currents were a bit behind. The apples didn't show any green but the pears had swollen flower buds.
The late storm surges over the early March had thrown up an abundance of seaweed and also sucked up a lot of loose winter vegetation from the shore shrubs. This detritus had mixed together and harbored all the tiny denizens of the shore that feed the gulls and crows.
The ground was like a wet sponge with all the rain and the moss was especially thick that year which gave a yellow-green luminosity to the canvas of Mother Nature as she lay supine in the sunlight.
I saw the little red squirrel that day, scampering about and he (or she ) allowed me to approach within 4 or 5 feet which is pretty good. They are confidant and quick but I worried a lot because the eagles were hunting in earnest then for their growing fledglings.
There was green, green, green everywhere on Lotus Island that day and since St Patrick is of the green it seems right. We hadn't diverted at that point from the green but the vibrant colors would always come in the next month. Even the daffodil blossoms were still in the anteroom then. The greens are as restful and holy as St. Patrick to me. I thought then I would toast the monk with a cup or two of Black Bush. Now I am too old for whiskey and will fall down. Memories, Precious Memories, How They Linger.
The Indian Plum was then in full flower and the Alder catkins were a cloud of red-brown in the background. The raspberries and the loganberries had started to leaf and the rhubarb was poking out through the leaf mold. The gooseberries and black currents were leafed as well but the red currents were a bit behind. The apples didn't show any green but the pears had swollen flower buds.
The late storm surges over the early March had thrown up an abundance of seaweed and also sucked up a lot of loose winter vegetation from the shore shrubs. This detritus had mixed together and harbored all the tiny denizens of the shore that feed the gulls and crows.
The ground was like a wet sponge with all the rain and the moss was especially thick that year which gave a yellow-green luminosity to the canvas of Mother Nature as she lay supine in the sunlight.
I saw the little red squirrel that day, scampering about and he (or she ) allowed me to approach within 4 or 5 feet which is pretty good. They are confidant and quick but I worried a lot because the eagles were hunting in earnest then for their growing fledglings.
There was green, green, green everywhere on Lotus Island that day and since St Patrick is of the green it seems right. We hadn't diverted at that point from the green but the vibrant colors would always come in the next month. Even the daffodil blossoms were still in the anteroom then. The greens are as restful and holy as St. Patrick to me. I thought then I would toast the monk with a cup or two of Black Bush. Now I am too old for whiskey and will fall down. Memories, Precious Memories, How They Linger.
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