Wisdom of Nature

If one looks past the current dampness and lack of sunshine what becomes most outstanding is the urgency and fervor of both blossoms and birds to proclaim their existence.

May is the month where everything is rebirthed in nature, its fabric dense and magical no matter the weather, a reminder to those of us who have weathered the winter of the promise of life being constantly created around us.

The unmistakable sound of automobiles on Route 6 last night proved serious competition for the songs of the peepers in the marsh ushering in the start of another invasion of pleasure seekers on Cape Cod.

This is where things can get interesting.  Those of us who endured the winter here and are now ready to enjoy the weather and beaches and all else that the Cape affords us are in for some competition.

One of the things I love the most about nature is the intricacy of the migratory patterns of birds and their resolution to maintain them for breeding purposes.

Seventeen years ago this area was regularly habitated by the whip-poor-will, a small dusky colored nocturnal bird who spends its winters in Mexico or other tropical climes and then travels here to breed, usually arriving here between mid-March to early May depending on the weather.

I've been spending time watching ospreys who seem to soar so effortlessly above all the betrayals and heartaches of the world and somehow prompt me to remember something that tragedy often makes you remember.

That being the heights of the human spirit and all that truly defines freedom.  The osprey is called the bird of freedom -- perhaps because of its capacity to fly high into the heavens, all the time emitting its call which sounds to me a proclamation of something good although I have no proof of that. 

Every now and then and especially at this time of year, a fit of wandering into unchartered places seizes me and suddenly I find myself overtaken with a sense of adventure and all that is unfamiliar.

Fortunate enough to have access to acres of undeveloped forest, I don my hiking boots, grab clipping shears and camera and set out to blaze a new trail after a trip to the city has rendered me starved for the things that only nature can provide me.

One only has to open the front door to know that love is in the air these days as far as nature is concerned and the entire atmosphere can barely contain its eagerness as we veer towards warmer and longer days.

We all have our methods but I must admit that when the male wild turkey fanned his feathers and cooed at me this morning while I was refilling the bird feeder I was a bit concerned.

You've got the wrong girl I told him, to no avail as he continued to wave the brilliant display of feathers towards me, following me as I headed back to the house.

Like all good things worth the waiting, so the unmistakable song of the robin on this Good Friday morning, ushering in all that is new and holding eternal hope and promise.

As pristine as it may be, poetic appraisals of the morning landscape have run their due course and most of us have apparently prematurely stored the snow shovels and snow blowers away in some foolish optimism of no longer needing them to employ methods of getting out of our houses and driveways.

Mention the word vulture and most of us instantly assume the worst but when you see those large black wings soaring overhead on milder days, it might not be what you imagine.

For the turkey vulture which we often see here on Cape Cod, although it does consume carrion,  does not kill to survive, rarely if ever attacks live animals and is a peaceful, non aggressive and even playful bird whose diet does not consist solely of dead things but of a variation of vegetation and insects. 

This is a surprisingly interesting character.

Optimism only goes so far and the weather is annoying everyone at this point other than the birds and squirrels. Nothing seems of much interest to anyone right now other than for the yellow dog with the red bandana who came to visit this morning.

On my way to the supermarket, the last thing I expected to encounter sitting on my front steps was a friendly canine with brown eyes reflecting an unearthly zeal and a tail flying enthusiastically like a flag.