Friday Ramble - A Patient Choir

The word for this morning is "patience", and it is a good word for this time of the year, part way through a deep cold snowy winter, beset with cabin fever and dreaming of springtime.

At this time of year, snowy fields in the highlands stretch away into the distance like a desert, smooth and white and sinuous in their flowing curves. At the horizon, they reach upward and merge seamlessly with the pale winter sky and drifting clouds which hold the promise of more snow to come. There is perfect trust in this meeting of snow and earth and sky, and I watch from a sheltered place along the fence, my breath forming clouds when it meets the subzero air of the day.

Pottering in the woods is a difficult exercise in February when the snow is deep - there have been so many days this winter when I could not get out to the woods because of health issues and blizzard conditions. There have also been a few fine adventures when I did make it out to the woods, left the trail and suddenly found myself in snow up to my waist and floundering about in snowshoes and heavy winter gear. The logistics of extracting one's self from such a situation are complex, and an almost balletic agility is required. It pleases me no end that I can usually (but not always) find my way out of such predicaments alone and with a minimum of fussing, cussing and contorting myself.

What I need to do on stormy days when wooded rambles cannot be undertaken is to cultivate patience and forbearance. I must be of good cheer and rest easy in the sure knowledge that the universe is unfolding just as it should, that there is indeed a springtime somewhere up ahead. I have to keep reminding myself of that every day, and in so striving, I would be wise to emulate the cardinals who visit my winter garden. Clinging to a branch in the high wind, this one sang like a praising bard to the rising sun, and his pleasure in the light this morning was wonderful to see.