At the Lake in March

There were birds at the lake tonight, birds that made noises like Chu-whoop Chu-wee, followed by little clicks and a trolling kind of call, and a heron, circling low and always just out of sight made a barking kind of noise, or rather something that sounded like two inner-tubes rubbing together. When it finally came out of the trees and glided over the hill above the lake I gasped at the span of its wings, which were far greater than the tiny gray and brown warblers and whistlers which darted among the trees and the tall willows. Even the ducks, which made quite the sight cutting the glass surface of the lake as they slid down into the water when they landed, sounded pleasant, almost happy. The lake has finally melted and the trail was abuzz with activity, from the rabbits which sprung up from nowhere and disappeared back into it with only a few manic hops, to the two foxes I saw in the field, standing atop their mound watching us as we approached. There will be cubs there soon if there aren't already. One or two of the prairie dogs finally poked their heads up and squawked at us, their noses perched between their paws on the edge of their burrows, looking like a "Kilroy was here "cartoon.

Duncan was quite happy to walk the trail. There was much sniffing to be done now that the snow has melted and the ice has cracked. And a great amount of marking that needed tending to. Back and forth, back and forth he snaked across the trail, his tail high, occasionally wagging when he discovered something new.

It snowed last night, melted today and will probably snow again but the sound of the birds and the clarity of the lake tell me Spring is coming. So soon now I can taste it.