Emerging from the Dark Time

Chances are I am not the only one that was glad to rip off the January calendar page. For the month that ushers in the shiny new year, January is generally a huge disappointment; dismal, dark and cold. Here in Southern Ontario, the temperatures resembled the spiky reading on the heart monitor of someone really sick. I found that I wanted to hibernate emotionally as well as physically.

As one bumps along in life, the happy occasions that one marks, are joined by anniversaries less joyful that are also part of your personal calendar. Time does sand down some of the sharpest edges of grief, but it will always remain close by. January now begins for me with several especially poignant of those anniversaries, so I struggle with melancholy and weariness and rejoice when the daylight hours begin to increase once more. 

The year began cold and snowy but I did pull myself away from cozier pursuits to venture out by the river. I became fascinated with how quickly it could change from day to day.

Upriver, from the dam to past the pedestrian bridge, the river was smooth, snow-coated ice, with occasional tracks marking a little furry someone's journey along the shoreline.

At the dam there was a small section of open water, and the tree trunk that had been caught there earlier in the year was now frozen in place as well.

Deer became confident enough to venture out onto the river upstream.

Downstream a muskrat had poked a hole in the snow near the riverbank and tunneled up the hillside a ways.

A mackerel sky one morning suggested a coming weather change. 

A rise in temperature opened the water below the dam and geese and ducks flocked to the river. The geese honked and flapped their wings at each other, while a solitary gull enjoyed a fish entree.

A bald eagle sat high in a tree near its nest supervising proceedings.

 A break in the gloom brought a Cooper's hawk out on a limb to bask in the sunshine.

At the dam, water pressure from upstream had forced the ice downstream so that the dam was covered completely; above the dam was now open water, and downstream between the raised walking path and the river, it was flooded inland. It was really disorienting.

Within 2 days it had switched back again, and downstream, the ice and snow was pushed against the trunks of trees inland. Chunks of thick ice were on the riverbanks and the depth of the snow in the river was three feet above the water.  

 The break in the temperature had brought deer out onto exposed grass to feed right beside the path. Several days of rain followed.

  I noticed script lichen on this smooth-barked tree, 

wintergreen in the moss, 

lemon drops on a stump.

At the dam the water was roiling; there was virtually no difference between the water level on either side of the dam. The noise was astonishing.  

I caught sight of a Red-bellied woodpecker and a White-breasted Nuthatch together in a treetop, peering down at me.

A raccoon was catching a nap outside on a tree limb in the sunshine.

I fed a few tiny chickadees. Thees birds winter in groups and follow prospective seed carriers along the path. Such sweet company. As are the red squirrels but they are a little more vocal in their opinions.

A male Downy woodpecker and a Red-bellied woodpecker feed at the same stump.   

 The path is once again snow-covered and the canal to the left completely frozen.

High up in a tree beside the river it is time for a little grooming. 

At last the month comes to a close and with a lovely full moon.

I may not climb out of my den completely yet; it is comforting there. But, the eagles are nesting by the river, and the skunk cabbage has poked its leaves out of the mud, the sparrows are cleaning out nesting boxes and the squirrels are pixilated, so spring is slowly approaching; also comforting.