The Diction of Spring

The diction of spring changes daily, sometimes from hour to hour as clouds build or sun shines. The words that tumble into the mind, sometimes habitual, sometimes surprising, arrive like waves of migrant birds. Snow melt. Mud puddles. Leaf buds. Flowers. Bees. Butterflies. Yard work. Gardens. Sunlight. Open windows. Screen doors. And the first, first, first of everything.

Walking the dog, the first mining bee of the year takes flight from a patch of Siberian Squill. From the look of the black and shiny abdomen, I'm tempted to guess it's Colletes, a Cellophane Bee. But I couldn't be sure from the one quick glimpse as the bee lifts off, makes a partial loop as it leaves. A sure sign of spring---blue squill flowers and mining bees.

Still no dragonflies. I looked for them at four ponds at the St Olaf Natural Lands. There were, however, a number of new arrivals among the birds: Song Sparrows, Tree Swallows, Bluebirds, and Eastern Phoebes. At the wooded pond, the calls of the Chorus Frogs and Wood Frogs reverberated at about ten times the decibels of the previous visit three days ago. Obviously the membership of this particular choir has increased dramatically. I had the good fortune to spot one of the singing Wood Frogs, even capturing a short video of it as it called. This was the first time I've actually watched one call and I was surprised that it didn't have a vocal sac beneath its chin, rather a pair of lateral vocal sacs that inflated on both sides toward the rear of its head.

Posted on Απρίλιος 05, 2017 0354 ΠΜ by scottking