Frosty Prairie Morning

Contrary as ever, I've refused to completely readjust to the most recent time change. Getting to bed "earlier" lead to my own pursuit of old Ben's prescribed health, wealth and wisdom when I woke up equally early and decided to rise. Even though I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast I got to the prairie just after sunrise. There was frost on the ground and the sky was completely clear. I had barely stepped out of the car when I started hearing Sandhill Cranes calling from the direction of the marshes. Multiple flocks passed over, all heading north. Maybe it's really spring after all.



A lone hawk glided over, possibly in pursuit of his own breakfast, though if I were a rodent on the prairie this morning I would have been tempted to stay in the nest until it warmed up a bit.

Since I had gotten such an early start, I decided to walk all the way to the top of the hill that dominates the prairie. On the way I passed the area where I most often hear Ring-necked Pheasants crowing. This morning one of them was announcing his presence in the vicinity of this great old Bur Oak, but I never saw him.



From the top of the hill the view is wonderful--provided you can block out the suburban sprawl that wraps two sides of this tract. Looking south I could see the marshes where some cranes were still circling and calling.



And here, to the northwest I found where the cranes were headed. It's not spring after all. They were just flying to their own breakfast in a field of corn stubble.



I'm managing to love autumn--for the moment--and yesterday I resolved to try to love winter as well. It's not like I have any choice in their coming and going. And, like what I think of as the more comfortable seasons, there's still something wonderful to see if I take the time to look.