February sun gently caresses the back of my legs. But it's warmth isn't enough to help my frozen hands hold the hot pink pruners. I end up dropping them into the middle of the thorniest part of the raspberry thicket.
Prickles grab at my jacket, refusing to let go, and there is a disconcerting ripping noise as I try to bend. Score one for the red berries, another jacket down.
Suckers try their best to poke through the heavy layers of vinyl dipped gloves I'm wearing in protection against the canes, but the point goes to me.
Over our heads, past the dark feathery tips of the fir trees, ravens soar in soft circles. Wide spread black wings attempt to catch the clouds drifting by. The sky a blue so deep it should be summer, but the icy snow patches convince me it's Winter still.
The dark birds chuckle follows the keening of the Eagles, taunting, calling, chasing them across the endless skies. The Eagles more determined to gain a meal then territory, perch in the Firs outside our house, waiting to make a dinner of the covey of quail when they drop by the feeder.
"Hold the post up straight" he pleads, bracing being both my job, and the temperature despite this sun streamed day.
In my over zealous attempt to straighten it before it goes over to far, I've sent it careening over the other direction, and it knocks the yellow metal level he is using deep into the bushes.
One more victory for the thorns.
Frozen ground, and snowy patches no match for the annoyance of gazing out all winter at crooked bird houses perched on a poles. It's been on our to do list to straighten them when spring comes.
Frost heaves skewed the poles, the weight of snow dampened the enthusiasm of the raspberries canes, but it's time to prune before the buds swell.
It's almost too late, bare grass, naked in it's"spring is coming" delight swelters in the sun, and freezes under a foot of hard snow in the shade.
I stomp my chilled feet in time to the melodic trilling of the Cedar Waxwings beautifully chiming in the trees across the street. There is a sudden stop to their beautiful music, but it's not my fault. Eagles appear in the sky, white heads shedding sunlight as they glide overhead. Sudden, is the sound of silence.
Soft cooing of Quail breaks out from the bushes over the fence, our supervisors have shown up. The sun lowering in the sky means time for them to advance upon the feeder in squirming droves. One brave bird perching on the fence as a lookout.
We gather up the prickly branches, carefully tossing them into the compost, but they refuse to let go, stubbornly reaching and grasping in desperation to avoid their doom. It's cold even in the sunlight now, February will fight for Winter. But March will bring on spring.
