An unquiet time, the last days of February. At night, I give myself up to dreams of wildflowers, of sunlight filtering through the trees and songbirds caroling in the leafy canopy. Barefoot, nightgowned and fast asleep, I wander the woods in the wee hours of the morning. I listen to wolves singing their pleasure under the moon, follow clouds across the western field, eavesdrop on bullfrogs in the beaver pond and bees in the wild apple trees by the fence.
By day, we (Beau and I) measure icicles dangling from the roof, assay the strength of returning sunlight and the length of shadows in the landscape, watch as snowdrifts recede from favorite trails looping through the woods, leaving puffs of snow like cotton wool and fine lacy fretwork behind as they go. Moving, we find ourselves listening for the telltale sound of sap dripping sotto voce down tree trunks.
. . . and there are the birds. That gentle hoot is the sound of a Great Horned Owl (bubo virginianis) talking with her mate - he sits on their nest in the old oak as she hunts nearby. Then there is the toot-toot-toot courtship song of the Saw-Whet Owl (aegolius acadicus), that fierce little harbinger of the approaching maple syrup season.
It is a few minutes before two in the morning, and the waning moon is still below the horizon, but there are other wonders to be seen through the kitchen window as I lean against the counter with a cup of Bigelow's Constant Comment tea. The southern sky is a tapestry of faraway stars from here to there, each and every one my kin.
As I type this, the people of Ukraine are under attack by invading Russian military forces. They too are kin, and my heart is with them as they struggle to keep their loved ones safe, defend their country and preserve their way of life. What the hang is the world coming to? How can we do such things to each other?
Our woodland rambles are brief this winter for various reasons, but we take them whenever we can. As we go along, light flickers through bare trees and slants across our path; everything in the great wide world seems to be filled with light and sparkling. Our late winter restlessness vanishes like smoke, and we rest easy in the moment, content just to be here and watching the day unfold. The feeling is familiar, a late winter Zen thing, and it is always a welcome guest on the threshold.
2 comments:
We do need strength to make it through the winter and to make it through man's madness.
Being. We're just being each day, each moment. Your prose always gives such joy, peace, and sparks my imagination.
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