This one's for me. It's my blog.

After hundreds, maybe thousands of tiger lilies, the last two or three will bloom tomorrow.

First pelicans of the year, about 4 headed north along the bay's edge, another flock of 11 headed to the point.

Beans are in full fury, as are the bunnies, who have taken out more than half the vines.

First pepper, still green, joins the first eggplant, now the size of an old-fashioned Christmas light bulb.

The green caterpillars have been munching on the Brussels sprouts for a couple of weeks, joined this week by the stripey black/white/yellow ones.

A few--very few--tomatoes ripened this week.

First bat of the season seen last night--only one. They used to be so common.

READ MORE - A phenology post

Just a few reminders for me.

First dolphin of the year today, surfacing about 20 yards from me as I tossed a piece of plastic at the ferry jetty. There was also a report by a local of a whale a mile off, but I missed it.

Oystercatchers sighted at two different spots.  One was preening, making an already ridiculous looking bird look even more ridiculous.

Water temperature is about 56 degrees in the bay.

The intact robin's egg still sits at the edge of the garden, more gray than blue now, a reminder amidst the budding exuberance.

The holly trees are flowering, promising red berries come next winter.

Photo by Alan D. Wilson, released under CC.

READ MORE - Late April phenology

Leslie and I found the tiny shell of a young horseshoe crab this afternoon while walking on the edge of the Delaware Bay.

The shell is backlit by our sun, the source of just about all our energy, whatever "energy" means.

I can construct all kinds of things on computers, create all kinds of worlds, live all kinds of lives, and none of it, none, can compare to the miracles we find with each step we take on the beach outside.

A loon surface no more than 10 feet away from us today. The water was clear. The sanderlings are gone.

READ MORE - February horseshoe crab

(Just my annual Bloomfield crocus phenology post. Move along, nothing to see....)

We're thawing in February.

The pond ice is melting.
Two fish floated, lifeless, on top.
Winter is over for them.

Crocus spears pierce the Earth.
Spring is just starting for them.

For us?
We have light, we have grace, and, for the moment, we have time.

For the moment.
And a moment is all that is promised us.

READ MORE - Death and crocuses