Leaves and Falling Water

As cold as it is here at the moment, little rivers and streams in Lanark are free and running headlong down hillsides and gorges, focused on an impetuous springtime joining with beaver ponds and lakes still frozen over and artfully iced. Where the sun touches the slopes, ice and snow melt away, and a thousand and one little tributaries are born into the light. An ardent journey begins, and the undertaking is joyous - it froths and bubbles and laughs all the way.

The icy moving waters are sleek and glossy, and they hold a thousand and one images from last autumn: fallen leaves in shades of russet and gold and scarlet and even pink, fronds of cedar, crimson osier (dogwood) twigs, strands of birch bark, scouring rushes and faded field grasses. There is a fine symmetry to this beginning of new life and a new tale with the closing paragraphs of last year's winding odyssey.

Maple syrup operations are suspended while we wait for northern days to warm up several degrees, but there are signs of springtime everywhere here, geese grazing in the fields and owls cooing in the woods, turkey vultures circling overhead and robins in the garden. The equinox has passed, and it will not be long now....