I woke up before dawn yesterday to feel the quiet of the morning before the rain came.  I put on some rain clothes, slung my camera around my neck, and  pressed a steaming to go cup of coffee before heading out the door.  My little dog fellow, whom since moving out here has become such a good and tired dog was dissapointed that she would’nt be joining me, but I promised her another day.  She would be of no help this time; Today was a day for birding.

The sky was loud with robins and other thrushes, the tufted titmouse, jays and crows and chickadees too.  I spotted a swallow or two and of course heard the knock knock drilling of woodpeckers catching a mornings meal.  But it wasn’t 15 minutes into my woodland walk, even before the suns first rays came up over the hill, that the rain started to fall down and the forest settled back in.  I continued on, why not I thought, the snow has melted enough to where you can pretty much navigate anywhere you please at this point.  I followed a deer trail down to a little vernal pool and spent some time watching the spreading circles of an April shower grow.

There is a peace in the morning that I had forgotten about.  Before my nights were filled with constant wake up calls I use to consistently enjoy this time of day. Whether it was for a run or to bake something sweet, the sun called me to get up each day.  Some years later, with my little wakeful one tucked in safe on my husbands side and a bigger boy conked out like nothing else on mine, I get plenty of rest and have been taking advantage of my mornings from time to time once more, knowing full well that this feeling of being well rested is surely limited as we approach July and a new little baby will soon be in my arms.

It seems seizing the day is something I am coming to understand more and more of the late.  When it is nice, go out.  When it rains, feel the wetness.  When it snows, marvel in its beauty.  I can’t help but really notice how seasonably you live in the country.  It is not an intentional lifestyle here, choosing stories to tell about the passing of the seasons, and crafting up projects to match, it is just what it is.  There is no choice.  When the sheep are to be sheared its spring, when its time for haying- you do, when the syrup is running- you gather, and when the snow is deep- you feed your wood stove and hibernate.

And today our ever changing land is presenting us with a beauty of a 70 degree day…  oh my, oh my, how good it will feel…