“Needles.”
An unbroken stream of sunlight illuminated one particular Balsam tree, making it appear silvery and alone. I shivered as I witnessed ordinary transition to extraordinary in an instant.
The Black Capped Chickadees called to one another, flitting from branch to branch while the upside down bird sang an intuitive rhythm. The forever questioning Goldfinches begged me to follow them beyond the Prayer Rock, but it wasn’t meant to be.
The snow was peppered with an abundance of seeds, fragments of pine cones and half-opened, Copper Beech seed pods. I stopped to fill my pockets with wild tidbits rich with raw earth tones and of appealing texture, envisioning merries not yet created. I got close to admire the delicate lace patterns of shredded moss and lichen that cling to fallen branches, logs and well worn stumps.
The quickening brook carved a clear path through the slushy snow, carrying an assortment of fallen leaves, feathery fronds, curled birch bark and other woody debris. The water was pristine! Grateful, I praised Our Mother.
The sun warmed my face and shoulders. It was odd being in the cool woods in winter wearing shorts, a tank top and my favorite chunky snow boots. The best part was that there were no bugs.
It was too warm – 81 degrees – and there I was, trudging through the snow with my new walking stick that I found at the beginning of the path and later left by a stream when I stopped, distracted by a gathering of diverse mushrooms and a plush, mossy stump.
Soon moose tracks merged onto the path. Secretly I want to catch up with it (I decided that it is a grand bull moose by the size of the tracks), but it doesn’t happen like that. Then I dreamt of how I would respond if I met with a just awakened bear.
More tracks – coyote, deer, rabbit and turkey – enter, cross and leave the trail in somewhat melodic lines. I studied the imprints and wished in a childish way that we could travel together.
In contrary motion, the brook curved in front of me. It seems I crossed it over and over again, this time not jumping far enough and my right boot filled with water. (It’s always the right boot).
Almost home and at the edge of the woods, I stopped and listened carefully for droplets in the maple syrup buckets. Many folks had given up, but I never give up easily. My smile began in my heart and made its way to my face when I distinguished four steady syncopated drips of much different tones. I would make another small batch of maple syrup or at least have delectable sap for making tea. I gave thanks to the great Maples before going indoors to empty my pockets of the divine trinkets gathered on this balmy, winter day.
For those who claim that global warming isn’t real, I would like to invite you in for a cup of wild earth tea. Let’s talk. I mean, I will be the first one to admit that I delighted in walking barefoot in the mud before dashing across the fast melting ice to the snowfield to bathe in the sun. However, while I was sitting on the old log where I often do, I concurred with the forever questioning Goldfinches when wondering what will be?
Journal:Babies Breath
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