A White-Winged Crossbill makes a landing.
Willow and I were up into the mountains once work was complete.
The day with bright sunshine reached 10°c. The snow, in the valley bottom, is melting with nowhere to go. Big puddles reflect the blue sky. Soon the frost will come out of the ground and the water will be absorbed where it can do some good.
Sun halo. Caused by ice crystals in the air.
Willow and I walked a frozen snowmobile path into the mountains. The birds, numerous, chirped in unison, but most refused to be seen. It’s hard to consider yourself a smart animal in their company, under the spruce, rock and snow while they rule from above, laughing at our plight nature inflicted.
A Pine Siskin, responsible for the trees going ‘zzzweeeet’!
Once off the path I sunk up to my knee. I remembered being young, setting off in the morning in the cold, before the sun cleared the mountains, walking easy on top of the snow, only to find the same snow soft once the afternoon took over, and having to slog back slowly home, taking twice the time for the same distance.
Colour among the buds.
I kept the windows open on the ride home listening for song.
A couple of Crossbills commission last years’ copious cone crop.
Very fine morning.