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We have a very tall pine in our front garden. Ravens, or at least one raven, often perch high up in that tree and make their distinctive calls. A few weeks ago I witnessed a territorial battle over the tree but was unsure whether it was crows or ravens because I didn’t get a good look or listen. I suspected someone wanted to build a nest in the pine. Today I got out my binoculars to have a peek. Sure enough, high up near the trunk, in the fork of two branches, is a large nest. I want it to be Ravens but I really have no idea. Guess I’ll need to patiently watch and see.


Spring, I believe, is here at last! The grass is high and dotted with daisy, dandelion, and primrose.  We had a roaring storm from the west last night.  Lashing rain and strong winds buffeted our stone house.  The sound was soothing, and simultaneously enlivening!  Today the winds remain strong, but the stray rain bands are coupled with dancing sun.  Into this glory I was propelled to venture.

As I walked the lane today I spied little rabbits, a pair of pheasant stealthily creeping through the tall grass,  and I recited Yeats.  For on a day such as this, when the West Wind sings in the trees, and the fresh spring showers fall on your upturned face, what else is there to do but sing with them:

The Winds awaken, the leaves whirl round.

Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,

Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,

Our arms are waving, our lips are apart.

Indeed, the Host was Rushing in east Cork today and I, for a brief moment, joined in.

I’m sure my neighbors think the Yank down at The Studio is a strange one…. walking out in the rain with a smile on her face.


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