I lifted my eyes from my book without moving my head to watch the Chickadee alight on the log in front of me, cock his head, then straighten up and sing a few notes of Spring. He again cocked his head my way, then hopped forward to select a seed, considered a second seed, then flew off with a slight whir of his wings. A second Chickadee immediately landed and studied me, while I studied her. From 30 inches, each feather, even every barb of each feather, was clearly discernible, so small, so complete, so perfect.
I can’t quite come up with the word for how it makes me feel, but it is somehow soul-filling to be able to watch so closely. It’s the same feeling I have when I smell the fragrance of hemlock needles drenched with warm sunlight or listen to a Winter Wren warble it’s fairytale song.
Most of our yard is still covered with about four inches of snow, but the bare patches are growing daily. Yesterday I discovered a clump of snowdrops, still closed but nearly ready to open. They still weren’t quite open today, but have expanded enough that the green on the inside is now partially visible– a promise of warmth, sunshine, and the coming greening of the earth.