We’re seeing the beginnings of spring in Southern Nevada. Green bursts on cottonwood trees. Creosote sprouting its fluffy, white fruit.
On a recent morning, I rose from sleep to a long litany of whoo-HOO-whoooo-whoooo-whoooo’s from a mourning dove. Such a soothing sound, and it reminds me of what an ancient woodwind instrument might have sounded like.
Forecasts of mid-60s by day ( but then plummeting into the upper-30s at night!) Typical desert cadence.
There were two ruby-crowned kinglets locked in dizzying patterns on Feb. 4 at the Desert National Wildlife Refuge. They swirled like fireworks, the male’s red feathers flaring atop its head. The pair wound up in a small shrub together.
As I write this, Beethoven’s expectant Piano Sonata No. 4 in E-flat Major, Op. 7 is playing. Very apropos. A cordial melody of commencing and obliging — of time-honored ceremony.
the prickly pressed 
Beethoven and kinglets–there’s a poem there, somewhere. A wonderful post!
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