Spring equinox

Well, I was expecting this to be tomorrow, but I was told the equinox varies, and it's actually today. Works for me because I'm delighted to know that spring has officially arrived. It feels like spring too, even if we did have heavy frost last night (good for the maple flow, I believe) and woke to -10.

Early one morning last week I heard birds twittering, then spotted skeins of returning geese and walked to the mailbox to the accompaniment of their honking. Two robins hopped along the top of our fence and cocked their shining eyes at me as if to say, 'See? We're back'. And now the doves are cooing.

Last night, of course, was Big Moon Night. We saw its pearly, shining face and felt the wonder of that silvery light. In 1992, the last time the moon was this close to the earth, I happened to be staying with my parents in their home on an island in the Knysna lagoon. Around the periphery of this small piece of land, the lagoon is kept in check by a stone sea wall, built, so they say, by Italian prisoners of war. The high spring tide broke through and flooded the common in front of our house, as well as the causeway leading to the island. No real damage was done, but I began to wonder how the rising water that was predicted to happen with global warming would affect us. So far, the water hasn't risen, but there's no doubt about it, Cape summers are hotter and drier than ever.

This morning I noticed the sun rose in almost exactly the same spot as the moon did last night. So, thinking of the equal lengths of night and day, equilibrium was the word that came to my mind. Sometimes it's hard to find our equilibrium, especially when we're witness to such disasters as the earthquake, tsunami and their nuclear aftermath. On my way to a small gathering, the sky was wide and blue . The road curved around. There, in the sky in front of me, two jet trails intersected, forming a perfect cross.