A DISTANT FRAGRANCE TO THE AIR

Saw Mr. Butterscotch wandering around in the garden yesterday morning, flowing along in his golden robes like a mobile miracle across the snow, we could but stand and watch in silence... and last evening saw a wheatear bouncing cheerily on the bare branches of the weeping cherry, looking in the window. Then very early this morning while drinking my tea and gazing with a headful of dreams out the big kitchen window I'd swear I saw a woodpecker silhouetted against the brightening sky, listening to the limbs and trunk of the garden oak, but he was gone in a flash, so many trees to listen to for breakfast.

Then on the way out for a walk this morning heard a bird doing some major trilling from upmountain through the icy air which, since it's so dry, makes for a crisper sharper song; sounded like the songster fully appreciated that, because he was going at it like a dozen Mozarts. On the way of the walk I saw Mr. Butterscotch's tiny, pointy tracks loping like the curves of a slow river along the snowcrust - though I can't imagine what he may be finding to eat yet, there's no fast food around here...

The buds of myrtle, plum, cherry and forsythia are swelling, just showing the first edge of their true colors and there is that distant fragrance to the air, of a world in open beauty not all that far away...