Boo Berry and I were walking along the canal bank when I came across these lovely cattails blowing in the wind.
It was such a delightful sight.
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
Our family, in Battlement Mesa, came the other day, bringing with them only one grandchild. The other two have developed into a teenager, with friends, and a tween with babysitting jobs.
Still the little one loves to come. There are many things she likes to do, here, on the farm
Like gathering cattails, which she calls: “Fluffy Corn dogs”.
“Come with me, Grammy! she called; practically vibrating with eagerness, to slip and slide down the hill, into the dried cattail area.
We walked over the hill to that special spot where the cattails stems brush lightly together in the gentle breeze. She gathered many fluffy corn dogs breaking them open to fly away in the wind allowing the little cattail seed to caress the earth as they landed.
Time moves on…always. As a parent/grandparent you look at each one of your children and your grandchild and wish with all your heart you could take away everything harmful and make their lives perfect. But you know you mostly can’t–they have to do ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is— by themselves.
But for this tiny moment of time I enjoyed the essence of life a grandchild brings.
From my world to your heart,
Linda
(Sunrise this morning…sun through the heavy clouds in the east)
A spring storm moved into our area yesterday bringing with it snow in the higher country, splattering of rain around us and on us.
Last night we had a huge wind, thunder storms and lightening.
A spring storm.
Today it’s still cloudy and cold, but the long months of desolation are coming to an end. Our air is full of bird song
There are Red-Winged Blackbirds in the cattails and in our apple trees!
Along the fence lines
There are Western Meadow Larks adding the joy in the air.
The delightful chirp of the Robin joins into the cacophony.
All replacing the lonely calling of the Canada Geese and the trill sound of the
Sandhill Cranes. We can hear their calling their way in flight forming Vs of courage toward the promise of a distant breeding grounds.
The Crows and Raven’s on swirling wings bear them up and away to other parts unknown to me. Leaving our trees available for the song birds.
In winter, we see the raptors;
It is in winter the feathered world is reduced to the brutal hunt and eat. Dark shadows pass overhead, dip down as the big birds hunt for mice along the ditch banks and fence rows. Sometimes a Ring-Necked Dover or a smaller little brown bird provides food for the owl and the hawk.
(Sunset last night…rain on the plateau with sun bursting through the clouds)
As late winter storms come and leave, the song birds return — even though the air is still cold, but not the bitter cold of winter; the sweet fresh cold of thawing earth, the brightness of sprigs of green and the hope of tiny swelling buds on the trees.
I can handle these storms…for it won’t be long now…not at all until the whole world I live in bursts forth into a riot of color!
From my world to your heart,
Linda