Forget June. Sunday here on Roundtop was even rarer—a sunny day in April. And not just sunny but perfectly clear, the sky a gem-quality shade of blue. I took the opportunity to wander from one end of my little property to the other, pausing every step or two to examine the seedlings poking up through the ground.
The greening of the forest floor is underway, buoyed by the Friday rain and the Sunday sunshine. Most of the seedlings are still mostly unidentifiable, each with just two small leaflets that look like every other seedling, from radishes to violets and poison ivy. A few things—the dog-toothed violets (trout lily) for one—are already identifiable. In the case of the those, the two-toned leaves make for an easy identification.
The arrival of spring birds is still slow. I now regularly hear a phoebe in the morning, but not multiple phoebes. The siskins are still coming to my feeders, as are the juncos, but the year-long residents like the titmice and chickadees seem to be less frequent, as though they are off finding natural food in the forest more tempting than my seeds and nuts.
My photo today is not of the forest floor, however. Instead it is of my view to the west, a reminder to me of the view that will disappear within a few weeks. Once the leaves come out, I will be encased in greenery, and the sight of the next range of mountains will vanish until sometime in late October or early November, a full half a year away. But for now, the trees haven’t even started to bud, and the view is still with me.