Singing Through the Door

The last few days have seen a return of winter, icy winds, light snow, gray skies and heavy cloud concealing the presence, somewhere beyond us (and hopefully not so far away), of warmth and springtime. 

This morning there is bright sunlight, but temperatures are below freezing, and there is a strong north wind blowing from the Gatineau hills across the river.

The frigid fingers of the wind and its hollow song are reminders that we make our home in an ancient rift valley (the Ottawa-Bonnechere Graben) in the southern part of the Canadian Shield.  The Ottawa River runs along the bottom of our valley, and a steep escarpment on the northern edge forms the beautiful Gatineau Hills - views from the heights in springtime and autumn are stunning, and on clear days, it does seem as though one can see forever.

In nests all over the village, birds are scrambling to keep their eggs warm and newly hatched offspring fed and out of the wind. House finches have nested in the oak wreath on the front door for the fourth year in a row, and they are hunkered down on their five eggs, both devoted to the brood who will emerge into the great wide world in a week or so.  Whenever we pass by the door, their blithe conversations can be heard emanating from the other side, just below the Georgian fanlight.