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turkey Archives ~ mystery mystery

Posts Tagged turkey

Blooms and bird calls.

Spring overwhelms, reeling from so much at once.

A blurred yellow cartoon appears across the room,

fluffed out double size,

reverts to goldfinch when the preening is done
and I’ve stepped too close.

Behind the dense butt of Mr. Tom,
testing the grass, Lady Claudia Cardinal.

I’m not where they think I am.

Hornbeam fully leafed out, just in time for the hummingbird nests
of the first dozen or sixteen who’ve settled in this week.

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Sugar maple seeds shower in astonishing profusion, likewise pinecones.
As every seed is sacred, we must plant them all.

Hawksbeard everywhere, a bumper bloom.

Money plants, in the pre-currency, violet phase.

Azelea not distressed at all by last week’s frost.

17 of the 20 blueberry bushes we planted 40 years ago
still flower and bear fruit.
This year we will implement some simple sharing rules
with the jays and crows and turkeys.

Dogwoods have become scarce, since the blight,
but a few young trees hang on.

Leaves ascending to the ridge.
By next week, an apparent mass of solid green,

but in the hundred shades of spring yellow greens
gradually coalescing into the grayer summer palette
of fewer darker hues.
And that will sign the end of spring.

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Spring back, fall forward.

Yesterday, snow blew down all afternoon, all night
with wind louder than jets,
like freight trains colliding overhead;
and last night the temperature bottomed at 26°F
for an hour or two.

Today it was sunny and 62°F, to make a mowing and pruning Sunday.

But for our transient little turkey clutch,
the proof of spring,
is the mating dance, display full-on.

A couple days ago, before the freeze,
Tom was grazing solo, a little shy,
hoping for a little cracked corn.

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Today he’s pumped
but the three hens he brung
have drifted off to clean up under the feeders.

So, all this is for me.

You got your chest fluffed, your back ruff raised,

your wattle blood red, your whole head a rather freaky blue,

wings down, pumping and dragging, the beard atremble,

tail feathers high, wide spread and snappy

all while wings brushing the ground,
gobbble-gobbling sweet nothings.
An’ he could he would perform all these at once.
But he has to settle for two or three
rotating through his display menu.

Meanwhile a mini-Monarch moth,
about an inch each way

has lit to prove spring’s here to stay.

No more frosts, no more freezes,
no more wintery mix.

Just the spring.
April is the cruelest month,
if you don’t know,
ask the blueberry bushes.

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Snow dusted cusp.

Stepping forward and back over the equinox.

Full bloom yesterday.

Half way to full.

Bulbs are up & out.

And perennials are being what they are.

The herb sagacious.

While randomly walking by,
our cracked corn tom, proves as camera shy as huge.

Brought inside to save them from the frost.

We had to kill them to save them,
though it did not hurt us more.

This way we may enjoy their last days close up.

Four inches of snow fell here today:
the first two vanished as they landed,
the third sank slowly into the ground,
but the fourth covered everything
as the temperature fell under freezing.

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