In these frantic weeks of April in our valley, I have watched the weather closely. Way too often, I've been rushing out at night to cover my perennial gardens against the many frosts and freezes we have had.
Last night was one of those frustrating nights. But when I'd tucked my gardens in, I looked up into a bright, full moon, shining unobstructed in the crystal darkness of a sky magnificently littered with stars.
It was breaktaking; only on such bitter nights will we human beings behold such skies.
The night itself seemed humbled into silence; the only sound I heard was from a hoot owl.
I wondered; does the hoot owl ever gripe, like us ungrateful humans, about seasons that arrive too soon... linger too late... are too hot or too cold or too dry or too wet...
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