the Each Week, One Beast project: week 15

Meadow jumping mouse with wheat. This week's beast, like last week's, is not someone I'm personally familiar with. My little city garden is sadly spare on the rodent side of things... We do have a rat or two, of course, and there is someone small and secretive who tunnels between the house foundation and the hemlock tree... So I had to resort to youtube videos to get to know my subject a bit. Meadow jumping mice are cute, as I suspected, and their long, narrow feet are capable of flipping them airborne, like pancakes, in order to cover some distance.

Desk o' owls...

...with a little spot for me, in the middle.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 14

Barn owl on a post. More owls in the weeks to come, because I have a bigger owl project in mind... Bigger, badder owls! Not really. Just more owls, of all varieties. And who doesn't love an owl?

Spring

Does anyone else feel headless, or at least senseless, this time of year? Lengthening daylight and building summer plans make me unfocused. So much to do! Sometimes I jump up from my desk to attend to some just-remembered something, and without thinking I put my pencil someplace stupid and completely unlikely, and there it hides for the next 15 minutes while I try to retrace my brain-addled steps. And then finally I find my pencil, and it's like, what am I? One of those woodpeckers that stashes acorns for a time when there won't be any more acorns anymore? Except those woodpeckers probably remember just where they put their acorns, so never mind.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 13

Two ravens sharing a tender moment. A few weeks ago, Matt took me hiking to the top of a cliff where he climbs. He had seen the remnants of a nest tucked into a notch in the rock, and wanted to check it out. While he rappelled down with the camera, I waited at the top with my binoculars, watching a pair of ravens. They preened one another and hopped and touched beaks and talked, and one did little flying loops of love off the cliff edge and back to its mate. They completely ignored Matt and I. Getting to see this was so sweet, and so unexpected. When Matt climbed back up, he had pictures of a beautifully woven nest of coarse sticks, with a soft bowl in the middle, and three speckled eggs, which you can just barely see...

Each time it has snowed since then, I think of the ravens up there, tending their nest, looking out over the mountains and the weather. We won't disturb them again, but I hope to glimpse baby ravens from a little further away.

A slow progression

Snowflakes are still flying here every day, but arugula is sprouting in the cold frame, and thanks to Matt's industry over the past week, the vegetable garden paths are mulched. I've pruned most of my roses, raked up many piles of debris, and miracle of miracles! not stepped in any cat crap yet. I've had my first un-neighborly conversation with the woodchuck, who is fresh out of his dirty hole in the ground. I was happy to see him, but don't tell him I said so. I also had a fit of inspiration and dug out a slew of perennials that were never my favorite, to make room for a rowdier bunch of exciting annuals to come.

And Matt and I have been talking about future plans, which involve leaving this home for another... A dream that is reviving to the soul. Do you know that song from Sweeney Todd about London? Well part of it goes there's a hole in the world like a great black pit. And that line rhymes with shit. And if your husband adapts that song to the town you live in, well, you know the effect of your city's charms have worn off and it's time to move on.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 12

 
This might look like Three Beasts, but I assure you, it's not: it's just one little rabbit, going bonkers. Because it's that time of year, you know.

The original drawing is available in my shop, right here: Wild Little Bunnny Rabbit.

Happy spring, everyone! Hope you are celebrating, too.