 It may officially be spring, but March keeps waffling, and these early crocus valiantly keep trying to open. In the meantime, I'm caught by patterns of light and shadow indoors, and the break from winter that a small orchid and a few succulents can offer.     
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I don't know where bees go for the winter or how they know when it's time to come out. One warm, sunny day this week the crocus in my window well opened, joining the snowdrops in sending out enticing signals. The bees buzzed in by the dozens and dove in. This was the same day that ended in a fiery blaze of glory. 
A few last photos of snow markings and mysteries here -- first a leaf still firmly gripped by the stem, after a very windy night. Then a picture story from our front stoop, though we aren't quite sure of the plot. That's presumably the imprint of the tips of a bird's wing and tail -- but what are those five parallel lines? And finally a snow illusion similar to that familiar psychology print which you perceive as either an old or young woman. Do you see ridges or depressions? Then the switch to Daylight Savings Time came this past Sunday, and so did the switch from snow to spring, with a few days of melting, and icicle creations giving way to the first spring flowers. Before the snow was gone, the snowdrops were up and by yesterday they were starting to open. The next few days are predicted to be in the high 50s, so maybe even the snow on the north side of the house will finally melt. Spring is on the way! 
Moments of delight take many forms. Many of mine from the past few weeks have had little to do with light-filled photos. We moved my parents' things from the condo they have lived in for the past 18 years to their new apartment at Greencroft, a local retirement center. So the moments of delight included the point where the house was all prepped for the movers to come in and complete the packing; not having another snowstorm on the day of the move; getting everything in to the new space; the chaos of two sisters unpacking; the last moments in an empty, swept condo; and the process of settling into the new space, where experiments with furniture arrangements and placement of artwork will continue until this new place also becomes home. 
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My approach to contemplative photography --
"Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Mary Oliver in "Sometimes" Archives
August 2020
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