Painting

If summer is a bold acrylic painting, all hot, bright, colors and hot, hard, sun, then spring is a watercolor, soft and tender, pastel and pretty. Every sky is a new delight from the first dawn to the last glow before dark.

I cannot stay indoors. We did some birding yesterday, then Becky and I took Gil up the hill to the 30-acre Lot...an awful walk! I sure don't recommend it and won't be doing it again until it dries up a lot! However, we now know the answer to that age old question "Who's a good boy?"

It's Gil.

We sat on the tire of the chopper, where this photo was taken, and were so still that a female Harrier flew right up to us. It was the closest I have ever been to one. She bolted when she finally spotted us but we got a really nice look.

The boss fixed the house driveway, which was a near disaster after the melt and rain. He did a heckin' fine job.

I walked all the way down this morning for the first time in weeks...just because I could...and was treated to a Bald Eagle over the river.

Even the dark is welcoming at the end of a long spring day. Our peepers here at the farm are now calling, although still no Woodcock. I do like to sit on the trailer by the back door to listen and look at the solar lights Becky has been buying me. They are like midnight rainbows of light, glowing out there in the dark...I hate to come back inside.