Look at this, I’ve found proof.  The seasons are changing again and
spring is on the way.  It’ll take months,
longer than the groundhog predicted only a couple weeks ago in Punxsutawney.  What can he know of our seasons so far to his
north?  It is only the middle of February
and here in the Kingdom, the snow will still be hanging around the back of the barn
well into May.  But the light is changing;
the days are somehow less grey.   Against
the snow there is a brightening of color; last year’s new growth is
swelling. 

This is the only pussy I found today.  One day of sun would be all they need to pop.

    

Last spring, I was miserably disappointed when I found the tall line of willows
I’d planted along the dam munched down to nubs by the newcomer beaver.  I'm usually pretty good at dealing with offenders.  Not this one.  He eluded my trap time after time, tripping
the door with well placed whips from my lovely willows.   This is the one that got away.  But that is another story.

The willows are making a comeback.  Weeds that they are, it won’t take long.  I admit that I was  curious to see what would happen to my pollarded plants.  It was something that I was thinking of doing before the beaver beat me to it.

The shape of what remains is hardly orderly.  If I were truly a gardener, a lover of order,
I’d prune them to a respectable form.   I’m
intrigued, at least for now, by the wild shapes that have been left
behind. 

 

 

With luck, there should be new willows popping up along the shore where the beaver left his tender snacks behind to root.