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As this picture should make clear, green is quickly becoming - as it should - the dominant color here in New Hampshire. Spring has absolutely and irreversibly arrived! Of course, it isn't yet late spring here, as evidenced by the fact that Eagle Wings remains placidly parked in the driveway.

Other signs of spring: peepers, beavers, open windows, open doors, sprouting lilies, later sunsets, and (gulp) mosquitoes. (Say it isn't so!) Fortunately, the last item in that otherwise happy list has not yet become a nuisance. So far I have seen about ten of the little bloodsuckers and have killed about five. If I can maintain that ratio of mosquitoes killed to mosquitoes seen (or is it the other way around?) throughout the summer, I will be very, very pleased with myself.

One of the ways I have been taking advantage of the relatively, and sometimes indescribably, beautiful weather we have been enjoying of late is to go rowing in the morning before I do school. As you can see by Exhibit B (at right), the pond is currently clear, glassy, and full. Alas, before long the algae will have significantly marred our view to the west, but so far so good. Several times now I have been in our boat when one or more beavers have come out of their lodge and swum around the pond. One time, while I was enjoying the breeze and reading American Literature, I tied the boat to a tree at the end of the pond. I was just lazily studying (there's a paradox for you!), when two baby beavers swam out of the swamp, right by my boat, and into their lodge. After a while, a big one came out, swam around for a while, and then returned.

The more exciting time was when I was actually rowing. As I went from one side of the pond to the other, the beaver would swim to the opposite side, swim around for a bit, and then dive under with a terrific smack of its tail against the water. 'Twas cool.

And now for a confession: after writing my last post, I have only read about seventy-five pages of Les Mis, and most of that today. At first it was from lack of time, but as the week went on and the book remained untouched, I was struck by this observation: sometimes the less you do of something, the more tired of doing it you feel. Now I have resumed reading it and am enthralled once again.