What follows are a selection of nature writings from Gazette editorials through the year.

Nature seems to whisper during a snowstorm as a blanketing hush falls over the land, sky and sea. Even the foghorn sounds muffled, appearing to broadcast an octave lower, hesitant perhaps to disturb the mood. Movement is scarce, too, as birds and animals disappear to wait out the storm in nests, burrows or on the lee side of a tree, bush or large rock.

Footsteps crunch underfoot, cars sound thick and wet, and the rattle of the snow plow scrapes the air. Squeals of laughter soar through the air, too, especially at the Tashmoo Overlook or third hole at Farm Neck golf course as sledders welcome the first big snowfall of the year.

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Pennsylvania has its groundhog but the Vineyard has its snowdrops. By now it’s old news that Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, signifying six more weeks of winter weather. Never mind; Tom Hodgson, who is not a groundhog but a West Tisburyite of long repute, saw and photographed snowdrops last weekend at his usual spot on Music street. This is not the first sighting, Tom told the Gazette. Thaw Malin saw and photographed the tiny white flowers last month. Spring harbingers!

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The sound of carpentry hammers the air, and businesses that have gone quiet in the off-season make noise about opening up again. Some new businesses prepare to take flight, too.

But there hasn’t been a peep yet from the spring peepers. Who can blame the wee frogs, though. Spring may have officially arrived yesterday, but winter hasn’t really ceded much ground yet.

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Tadpoles, salamanders and fairy shrimp live in them but fish do not. This is the time of year for spotting vernal pools, the fascinating and biologically rich temporary ponds that form in woodlands and uplands from rain, melting snow and high water tables. Vernal pools are flooded for just a short time each year, in the spring.

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It’s been a dry spring, so dry that even the handful of rain showers and downpours we’ve had in the past few days can’t wash away the dust and pollen that have been coating cars, kitchen tables and throats in recent weeks.

Will June bring more rain to our offshore region?

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The geese are on the move, filling our ears with their noisy clatter overhead and our senses with the season at hand. Soon the migratory shorebirds will begin to take flight too, alerted by their finely tuned inner gyroscopes to the fact that it’s nearly time to head for winter climes. Nearly time too for the thousands of migratory humans who land on the Island every summer to pack up the kids, dogs and beach chairs and head for their mainland homes. Summer is slipping away and nature is the best gauge.

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Fragrant autumn clematis tumbles from hedgerows, jolting us from our reverie with its honeysuckle perfume during walks about town and on nature trails. Late roses bloom on white and weathered picket fences in shades of yellow, deep red and pale pink. Goldenrod nods in the russet-colored understory of lowbush blueberry and bayberry. The berries are mostly gone now save wild grapes and beach plums, but flowering plants are thriving in the warm September sun.

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Groundsel trees are in full bloom and thriving these days in the vast salt marshes that ring the many Island saltwater ponds, their gray-green silvery flowers leaning and nodding in the autumn winds that buffet the shorelines. Uniquely coastal, groundsel occurs from Massachusetts to Florida and blooms from August into early fall. But its peak season is now. The female plants are especially showy with their thick, silky flower heads and understated color scheme, perfectly matched with the season at hand and its hues of cream, russet and gold.

A round of applause, please, for the groundsel girls who grace the salt marshes of fall.