Two different worlds

It is as Sei said in his comment awhile ago. Things have really changed here in Roosevelt during the last few months. When we come back to the house late in the afternoon after ice fishing or skiing, I often think about summer. The winter world is almost totally white and black. The only other colors--the blue, the gold, the lavender, the rose--come from the sky. There are paths in the yard to the places we need to go. Otherwise, much of our space is never stepped on. The blanketed gardens look small and inconsequential. The quiet as the light fades on a winter day is profound. I look around and can't really remember or imagine exactly what summer will be. We had a very nice April this year and for awhile the change was coming fast. The leaves came out on things growing low in the woods and they were delicate looking and a pale shade of green that usually only lasts for a few days. Then the wild fruits of the forest (juneberry, pin cherry, plum, choke cherry, American high bush cranberry) all began to bloom in layers among the green. The tamarack, though they are conifers, loose their needles in the fall. In the spring, the new needles cover every branch with chartreuse lace. The tall trees had swollen buds. Those of the red maples are a soft orangy rose. The bird count at the feeders went way up as summer birds returned and migrators passed through. Fading days were filled with bird song. This year, May came along in a bad mood. It got cold and blustery and there were a few snow flakes in the air. But it had one unintended happy result. That usually very fleeting, beautiful time was held still and lasted for a few weeks instead of a few days. Spring and summer are so very lush compared with winter. There are many things I haven't even mentioned. The purple violets blooming through the dry, grey reindeer moss on the sand ridge. The bright yellow marsh marigolds in wet spots. The sand hill cranes. The hummingbirds. The bright orange and black orioles. Pale pink tiny bell shaped blossoms on all the blueberry bushes. Croaking frogs. Every day something new. We slept with our doors open for the first time last night. I looked out at three a. m. and our side yard was full of blinking fireflies. Now when I walk down the driveway and see our ice house parked in the weeds, I wonder if ice fishing really happened. Sixty-three years now and all this still fascinates me.