I CAN SMELL THE GREEN....

I like to rise early most mornings…this says nothing regarding my work ethic, I just do not sleep well. But mornings are always a very productive time for me writing wise - words flow more easily before all the sights, sounds and stresses of the day clog up my mind.

Directly above our bedroom window lives Mr. & Mrs. Pigeon (I am assuming they are married - but you never know) and their 23 little ones. (they are sooo sweet!) They seem to have their extended family staying with them at the moment and it gets just a wee bit noisy at times. Our cats love it though, bird T.V. 24/7. Hopefully this is a temporary living arrangement just until their company get their own place. It appears that pigeon cubbies are at a premium just now - however I am certainly no expert on the avian real estate market in Saint John.

Almost overnight all the trees have presented their foliage and the boulevard in front of our home is quickly closing over, becoming a canopy of green. It always seems that this transformation from a tiny bud to an unfurled leaf literally happens overnight and all the new spring growth appears in one sudden explosion. Saint John is an old city where the narrow streets overflow with ancient trees and historical architecture. It is almost like living inside one big park, it is truely beautiful.

Morning has it’s own special scent. Before all the cars hit the streets and cloy the air with fumes, the earthy organic smell of new growth can only be described as green. The famous Fundy fog is thick and quietly wraps around you, impressing the silence of early morning. From the tree tops small birds are chirping away and seagulls call out to each other as they glide over the bay.

This would be a wonderful time to take stroll through the streets, however the city’s finest tend to slow down and look at you hard when you walk around at 5 a.m. wearing a hoodie, hands hidden in your pockets.

Saint John is a beautiful city. It seems to inspire creativity and does indeed claim a large artistic community. Since moving here I write more and hubby has taken up photography. He finds no end of stimulating images to capture, like the one shown here of the Beaver Pond in the Loyalist Cemetery. (don't worry about the trees - they are not real beavers)

Ah…Sunday. In our house that means long meals, long walks and very long NASCAR races. Nice simple life.

Now if only those damn birds would shut up….maybe I could get back to sleep.

Til later