Woken by moonbeams streaming through the porch windows, I dressed in the predawn, walked to edge of the salt marsh and lit a small fire. The wind sashayed through the tall pines far above my head, marsh hens buzzed in the sawgrass and the moon danced across the full tide. And, then I got jumpy.

Thinking of all my friends as we approach the end of the Great Hunkering. See you soon!

First in a series.

Spring; the green and growing time. The time of birth and resurrection. A time of nesting and the caring for the young of the many wild species. Here, at the edge of the greywood, we see Mother Webber, quietly introducing her tiny, recently delivered, offspring into their prime habitat: the Northern, highland meadow edge.

All is well and as it should be, here at this place, at the beginning of this wondrous season. Welcome to the Warm Times my friends. It is seems more precious than ever.