Previously on Ripple, I’d posted an Easter poem I wrote a few years back. In it there’s this line about the longing for spring: “I’m contented to see a patch of dry and withered brown.”

These photos explain why. There’s still remnant of winter just a couple of weeks ago:

Remnat of winter

The weather today reached 23C (73F), but the ground is still brown, the branches bare, a very different world from most of you, your gardens blooming with colourful roses and first crops.

But from the bare branches I can see buds, a tiny green ready to burst out:

buds on trees

So glad to see the Robins back, see them?

Robins at the pond



DSC_0665 (1)

For the past few years, the Great Horn Owls are the punctual heralds of spring. Mommy returns to the same nest every March to give birth to her young. By this time, the owlets have been born, but still being kept close in the nest. See the tiny white downy on Mommy’s right?

Mom & baby


Daddy Owl is never far away, watching or dozing off from a close distance:

Father Owl.jpg

See him? Brown feathers camouflage with the bare, brown trees. Soon, green will come out and so will the young, fledging owlets, babies’ day out. Arti will sure be there waiting at the bottom of the trees, camera ready, as in the past few years.

Until then, I’m contented with a patch of brown.


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