Trudging Towards Spring

The remains of the robins' feast cling

 to the branches of the trees, 

as little crystals of rain hang in the balance,

sequins decorating a rainy day

on their way to Spring, to nurture 

the grass that lies below.

A Walk in the Thaw

After nearly a month of below normal temperatures,

Sunday felt as though the season was ready to permit a bit 

of spring air to enliven our spirits. And it did.

People were out everywhere I went, jogging, exploring

the city as their dogs pranced along on the ends 

of their people strings, everyone enjoying the first bit 

of sun-warmed air to waft our way in months.

I went downtown to return a couple books to the library,

then took a long walk across the IUPUI campus, then along

the Central Canal to the river, then back into

the downtown area where even the buildings 

looked glad to see a bit of sunlit sky. 

Saturday @ 7 A.M.

I went downtown Saturday to meet a friend

for a ride swim practice. As I rode the bus into town,

I watched as the wind pushed a line of cloud cover across

the city's sky, delineating a clear arc between 

the morose gray that had been our partner for the

past week, and this beautiful periwinkle blue.

The yellow-y streetlights and bright reds

of the cars' tail lights gave the early morning

a spectrum of cheer that added to my

enjoyment of the morning.

Indy Tundra

These stems, dried and blackened by the cold, 

have leaned and turned themselves into an artful arrangement 

against the grayed background of city snow.

These past couple winters, christened "polar vortex,"

seem like a cruel joke perpetrated by the heating and salt

companies; they're the only ones making any money.

Finally, the weather seems to be making a break for it,

showing some mercy to folk as they try to stay warm and dry,

huddled against the wind that lurks between 

the buildings and comes speeding down the streets,

leaving shivers and numb toes in its wake.

. 

Robins Ate the Berries

On Tuesday, I posted a couple pictures of robins 

perched in a berry-laden tree.

It is my contention that this tree is able to hold

its fruit all fall and winter because it's

meant as a late winter feast for the robins.

I've seen trees at other locations, their bases surrounded

by robins sitting in the snow, so gorged

on berries that they could not fly.

There were about a half dozen birds around this tree

when I returned Wednesday afternoon.

The berries are very nearly gone.

The only birds eating them are robins.

Robins and Berries

We got several inches of snow in Indy 

this past weekend. Monday afternoon, while waiting 

for the bus, I looked up in a nearby tree 

where I saw robins. They seemed almost tame, 

but I guess it was the berries and, perhaps, a mating thing, 

that kept them in the tree while I prowled underneath, 

looking for a decent shot.

Theme Day: Ageing (Where the Winner of the Inaugural Wyoming Award Gets Tested)

Several weeks ago, I enrolled in "Bee School," 

a day-long seminar presented by the Indiana Beekeepers

Association. In addition to displays brought in

by professional apiaries and suppliers, there were lectures

for advanced beekeepers, beginning beekeepers,

and people interested in keeping bees.

I fall into the latter category.

Since I needed to take a bus to the site of the event,

I checked the location on Google maps that displayed an

intersection near the end of the bus route from which

I would walk about a half mile to the high school

campus. "No problem," I said to myself, as I set off

to learn how to become a willing servant to those

little pollinators of our food supply.

The bus ride Saturday morning was non-eventful, 

winding through neighborhoods I'd never seen before,

taking me into the southwestern section of the city.

I got off the bus in an area that could only be described

as light industrial to rural. The only buildings in

evidence were warehouses that are transfer points

for cargo shipped to and from the nearby

Indianapolis International Airport, a regional hub 

for FedEx and UPS. I walked a quarter mile north, 

near the entrance to a warehouse serving a lot of FedEx 

semis - and saw nothing on the horizon but more warehouses.

I walked back to the intersection where I walked west along 

a two-lane paved road. At the top of the rise all I saw

was fallow ground bordered by barren trees.

It crossed my mind that me, a sixty-something woman

might become likely prey for a serial killer

long-haul truck driver. I'd never be heard from again.
Instead of getting scared wandering the roads, I got pissed.

 The Google map did not show the bus stop

on Kentucky Avenue where I could have just crossed

the street to arrive at my location. Instead, it had me 
walking a half mile from some isolated spot, 

nowhere near the school.

That's where I saw this speed limit sign, smothered 

in brush beside a long-abandoned road.

Back at the intersection, I was able to board the next

bus along that route. I asked the driver the location

of Decatur Central High School and was told it was just

about a mile from where the earlier driver

had dropped me off, across the street from where we'd

 first entered the development of apartments, 

a small specialty hospital, with the warehouses 

just beyond that. He told me he would let me off

right in front of the campus, and he did.

An hour late, I made it to Bee School. I'd expected 

a few hundred people to attend. Instead, I saw a 

couple thousand folks; the auditorium was full and the 

lectures I attended for beginning beekeepers

were standing room only. People of all ages bunched 

around the manufacturers' displays, including teen-agers

trying on coveralls and veils. I think I could get 

started on this part of my life odyssey for about $500.00, 

including my first package of bees.

And what has all this to do with today's CDP theme?

During one of the lectures, the beekeeper spoke about

the die-off of some of his bees during the winters.

He said that bees need to leave the hive every several

days to, well, take a shit. They do not want to dirty

their hive, so briefly fly outside then return to the warmth 

of their cluster. Some bees go outside to die

for the same reason. He used to work very hard

to save them only to find they would again leave the hive,

where he'd find their little bodies in the snow.

Eventually, the beekeeper learned it was a part 

of the natural process, that they knew better 

than he when their role was done.

Me? I am nowhere near ready to be found in some

isolated snow bank, curled up and down for the count. 

I have too many adventures ahead.

To see how other members of the City Daily Photo 

portal have interpreted today's theme, "Ageing," 

either click on the above link or on the CDP badge

to the right of this post.