…..the only problem being “spring” used my “S’more” kitty as the door knocker! A microburst of wind lifted the poor fellow straight up off his little paws and flung him into the glass window of the front door while I was delivering his breakfast.Ten pounds of fluffy grey and white flying by one’s head tends to quickly wake a body up. I was as surprised as he was,but nowhere near as indignant. From the aggrieved look he threw over his shoulder as he stalked off, I’m sure he thought I was responsible for the injury to his cat ego and not the erratic sneakiness of an errant Nevada zephyr.                                                                                                                                     

The “scout” buzzards are borne in, silently, stealthily, on these Sierra winds, surfing the invisible scent trails high above the ranch lands and highways, searching for the first delicacies left behind by lambing and calving operations, and the asphalt offerings made up of slow rabbits, squirrels and the occasional, hapless coyote.  Last week, the first “official” calendar  day of spring, the main body of the ‘clean up” troops arrived, coasting in on mild temperatures.  If they’re youngsters making their first spring foray into this valley, they’re in for a surprise.  As are the trees……..

Swaddled in their soft, gauzy mantles of opalescent greens, diaphanous whites, and subtle pinks, the trees and other desert foliage are a Monet palette against the monochromatic tones of the bare hills surrounding the valley, providing flocks of newly arrived birds a stage on which to perform their best warbling… or, perches for the hawks, owls and occasional eagle from which to launch their sorties against the scurrying members of the animal kingdom. Grass and alfalfa fields, sporting new halos of emerald, are the playgrounds for the the newly arrived lambs and calves that “pop” and hopscotch through warm sunshine. Poor babies……poor trees….poor plants……

The latest zephyr is howling down my chimney. The snow level is predicted to be at four thousand feet. The buzzards are grounded, the blossoms are littering the skyways, the birds are not singing, the babies are huddled against their mommas, and I think this calls for a stiff shot of hot chocolate.  Our Sierra spring has begun.