somewhere beneath the snow that just today got piled higher than the roof of our car, somewhere under there, as unimaginably distant currently as a constellation of stars, some unobtrusive swelling is preparing itself to be a daffodil in our back yard. it is the first of march.
daffodil bulb and roots
i love the french verb napper. it means to coat. or to cover like a tablecloth. this winter, we have not just been blanketed in snow, as the expression goes, but rather i feel as though we have been coated. snow has crept into every nook, every cranny, every crevice. and it has stayed. all four feet of it!
snow blanketed winter stalk
rice creek regional trail, saint paul, minnesota
last summer, driving our 15 year old daughter home from a boundary waters wilderness camp, we happened upon the remains of a freshly killed adolescent great horned owl. the bird had been struck by a car, and the roadside was strewn with feathers. we stopped, took some photos of the bird, and then filled a bag with probably illegal loose feathers that otherwise would have blown into the ditch and been mown into confetti. today, i brought out that bag for some STILL blog inspiration, because my inspiration today was not going to come from outside, where the air temperature never rose above zero degrees fahrenheit. this winter has come out of nowhere and flattened us.
feathers of an adolescent great horned owl
found roadside near ely, minnesota
i once tried to pry a limpet shell from a shoreline rock, and discovered that the lovely crenellations around the perimeter of the shell are actually blade-sharp, and that the limpet clings to its chosen surface with almost surreal tenacity. my bloody fingertips convinced me to admire all future examples visually, but not tactilely.
limpet shell (from a marine sea snail)
north captiva island, florida gulf coast
jade, agave, cactus, aloe…
greenhouse succulents and cacti
barnacled clam shell
most likely from north captiva island, gulf coast, florida
the succulents i planted with the kids last year outgrew their terrarium. so we spent today transplanting. the agave never made it to its new home, though. it was just too tempting to pull it apart and take an exploded shot of it. plus, there has been a lot of snow, and we all needed a green fix.
sacrificed agave plant from local greenhouse
saint paul, minnesota