The Lengthening Light

First off, our geese are safe. No new paw prints AND yesterday our dear neighbor Royce, concerned about their safety as the predators in the surrounding woods get hungrier and more determined, volunteered to build a safer chicken-wired enclosure. True to his word our geese are now safe and sound within a lovingly constructed embrace. Thanks Royce.

With the snow at hip height and a deep chill in the air and in the bones, it does help noticing that the light is sticking around a little bit longer every day. Spring is out there, stored away in seeds, in the daffodils and tulips we planted in October, in the promise of the lengthening and strengthening light. It's put the slightest tease of change in the air. Soon, as our neighbor Gail likes to point out, we'll be able to see subtle changes in the color of the tree bark. A redness, a fullness. Another more evident sign will be the return of a Canada Goose pair to our pond to raise another group of goslings. Every year I wrestle with discouraging them from doing so, but nature wins out. Yes, the poop is prodigious, especially when added to our lot's contribution, but the sight of them on our pond is like a haiku, a gentle, floating meditation we're treated to every single day. (Speaking of goslings, the jury is still out about letting our geese raise any young. We plan to sell and ship out most if not all of their eggs, but are we depriving them of a piece of spring if we deny them the experience of parenting, protecting, and raising a gosling or 3? Is this injurious to their spirit? Do they even care? Probably not, but still ... ugh. It will come clear soon.)

Along with the outer signs, I can feel my thoughts and ideas unfurling and stretching too. They've been in a restorative hibernation, closed in on themselves, something needed each year, guided by the growing darkness, and now the lengthening light is inspiring a subtle shift in inner buoyancy. And to honor and encourage that growth, to celebrate the shift, I want to be growing something green inside our house. Forcing tulip bulbs, seeds, something fun. It would also be nice to finally order the seeds from the catalogue for the garden this year, a garden I hope to compartmentalize into raised, wood-sided beds. I don't know why I've been procrastinating about that. Hmmm? No worries. Today. I'll do it today.

Here's to lengthening lightness without and within. Spread it around.

I fly home to Vermont today after a week in NYC. I love both places, but it'll be good to get back home with all the animals.