Posts in Category: winter

Held Over


Winter has held on,
here in Southern Maine,
way past it’s welcome.

We are marching fast
into the final week in March
and snow and ice still clog the marsh.

Returning birds, expecting buds and bugs,
find cold comfort in a February landscape
and flock to backyard feeders.

And the marsh, normally alive
with bird-song by now,
languishes silent despite
the promise of the spring sun.

Bosque Snow Storm


Geese and Cranes descend
with the snow,
taking a bit more care
than the flakes where they fall.

Backing wings to break,
looking for the landing…
and all about them
the snow falls careless
to cover the corn stubble.

The camera catches,
arrests the moment
and it’s movement,
flakes and Geese and Cranes,
frozen in their separate attitudes.

I could look forever.

March Winter


It is March
and winter is lingering long
on the marshes by the Mousam,
making slow work of leaving,
frustrating spring migrants
and long-suffering Mariners alike.

What can you do?

It is winters like this one
that make Mariners stoic…
or, what is probably better sense,
migrants in their own right.

Tundra Dreams?


The first year Snowy Owl
that is wintering
in the marsh behind the dunes
at our local beach, sits often
at the tip most top
of a three-story pine
on the landward side,
surveying her acres
of open fields, marsh,
the wide mouth of the Mousam River,
and the bit of beach and open ocean
she can see over the dunes.

I have a feeling the treeless tundra
of her far north home
and breeding ground
is going to strike her
as awfully flat.

Do you suppose her summer sleep
will be disturbed by owlish dreams
(if there be such)
full of the piney heights
of her winter in Maine?

Snowy Owls and Gratitude


The roof ridge, or the chimney pot,
to the Snowy Owl, out of its element,
far south in numbers
after a summer of abundance
on the tundra,
is, after all, only elevation
convienently placed in the landscape…
a rock surrogate, the equivalent
of any rise, any height,
simply a vantage point.

If it leaks a little heat,
well, so do rocks on a sunny day.

I don’t think they are the least bit aware
of sitting on someone’s house.

And the concept of gratitude
is certainly beyond them.

And that’s okay.

It is not beyond me,
and I am grateful for every
Snowy I see
sitting on the ridge-top
(or the chimney pot)!

Winter Meets the Sea


We live, they say,
in temperate latitudes,
where snowstorms cloud the beach
and barnicles on shells,
empty crabs, twists of sea-moss
and seaweed candelabras
play Eskimo tag where
the tide tossed sand,
covers the toes of the snow.

And they call that temperate!