Little things

Last Saturday:

That morning, the first salmonberry of the season appeared in the woods. So early, almost as though it shouldn't have been there yet. The surprise made it that much more joyful to pluck and taste its woodsy flavor.

Later, a quick drive to the nearby nature preserve shook off the frenzy of a trip to the mall. In a place filled with ease and familiarity, I was eager to spot my favorite things, the bald eagles hunting from the angular branches of the bare trees in the lake, the egrets and herons stealthily stalking their lunch in the shallows, and the little owl napping on a favored branch hugged up against the wide cedar trunk.

But they were not to be found.

Settling for a ramble around the wide gravel farm road that circles the perimeter, I relished how the green growth of spring so rapidly cancels out the muted shades of winter. And I got lost in thought as the sounds of gravel underfoot and redwing blackbirds overhead were reminiscent of my grandparent's farm where we used to tumble around in the haystacks and the barn and the cow pasture letting our imaginations run wild.

The first fuzzy caterpillar of the year wandered across the path.  Oddly jolly and stoic at the same time, they're always a thrill to spot. I can never resist carrying them along for just a few moments, although I occasionally wonder if I've taken them away from their progress towards some seriously planned destination. This one had long white fairy-like whiskers standing out above its black fuzz.

As I leaned down to set the caterpillar free, I spotted a pile of hawk feathers scattered on the edge of the path.  The hunter, snared and eaten by something even more powerful. It was fascinating to see the results of the struggle up close, and marvelous to have the chance to see how each feather is utterly unique in some small way, be it color or markings or size. Despite the destruction, it was all quite beautiful.

With a few stolen feathers tucked into my journal, I continued on to see a flock of tiny swallows dancing wildly over the pond as they skimmed tiny bugs from the surface. 

And just before I headed back up the hill to the parking lot, one smooth frog peeked out at the water's edge. Good thing I spied him first because he quickly slid to the bottom as soon as he spied me.

It was a good outing.