Word Pictures Near the Vernal Equinox

Word Pictures Near the Vernal Equinox

March 18, 2014

I step outside the porch door to call in a cat, but am drawn further into the cold night and fresh, open air.  I walk out under a sky of bright stars, the Big Dipper right over my head.  It looks as if the ceiling is a big, deep blue sheet of paper full of holes pricked into it, with a bright light shining through from behind. 

I look to the east. The Full Worm Moon is hanging low, with perfectly sharp edges.  Its glow is a hot, yellowish white, glaring, yet cool at the same time.  I warms me throughout.  The circle is broken by the dark silhouettes of tree limbs and branches.  A hazy glow surrounds the moon, stretching and fading far into space around it. The rest of the sky does not look black as it does on moonless nights.  It is a deep version of that crayon color called Cadet Blue, found only in the box of 64. 

A sharp sound comes from the same direction. Chorus Frogs are calling from the pond behind the house across the road, that frantic, slippery call of the mating season.  It seems amazing to me that I can hear them so clearly, from so far away, when I know that each one is so tiny that it is difficult to find.  I also know that if I were over there, the sound of all of them together would make my ears ring loudly. 

My focus shoots through the night, across the gardens, across the road, to one little spot among the old cat-tail stalks, where one tiny Chorus frog inflates his throat sac to almost half the size of his body, a sudden thin bubblegum bubble that creates a sound so suddenly strident that it is startling.

I pull my senses back to the present, to this spot.  But then my focus is brought to the southwest, across our farm field full of corn stubble, across the tree line on the far side, across the next farm field, and into the far tree line on the opposite side.  A pin prick of sound comes from there - “peeeent!”  Then again, from another dark space in the trees, and again - “peeeent!” And then I hear that other sound, the distinctive, far-away whistle. I know I would be seeing a male Woodcock on the upward spiral of his mating flight, wings whistling in the cold darkness.  A little while later I hear another “peeeent!”

I pull my senses back again to the spot where I stand, and then turn to the moon again in the east.  I try to drink in the memory of that brilliant orb.  I can almost see the buds swelling on the dark tree branches.

How different this will all look a month from now, the view obscured by the dense mist of new leaves.

I walk to the edge of the woods to find out if frogs are calling from Cottonwood Pond.  But, my dogs hear me, and don't know it's me.  Always on the job, they snarl, growl and bark in low, guttural voices, and are almost instantly at the fence. 

I reassure them, and they are relieved and happy.  I go back into the house, leaving the quiet night outside.