They Sing Anyway

April 12, 2017

Days grow longer. Snow melts a little. Light on Ice Mountain lingers a long while in the evening. Such is the day, the season. Time. Snow still knee deep, except under the big Lodgepole pines where the sun radiates warmth to the earth and life appears here and there. What will summer bring? Too soon for those lush days. It is now that Spring comes on so slowly with her promises. I see trout moving gently in deep pools. What are they eating after living in dark snow covered tunnels in the cold time? Two red winged blackbirds seeking sunny summer meadows of tall grass come now to the feeder once a day. What do they expect to eat except my seeds? How did they know? They sing anyway. Are these lynx tracks in the snow?


What new comes with the season? Spring is the time of questions. Is the Earth reborn? Am I reborn? To what? How many more Springs? Will there be meat on the grill in July and children on the old rope swing? Will the Caddis emerge from their stony cases in the graveled stream and become food for fish? Will the little patch of purple Monkshood bloom down by the creek again this year? It doesn't always. I see the electric Blue Flax waiting under the snow. Will the Red Tail Hawk hunt voles in the meadow down by the old dredge, stopped in its gold-seeking gravel tracks 102 Springs ago? Will elk pause here again on their annual trek to the high grass at high timberline? Will friends will come for a time with laughter and happy, quiet voices? Will I hear the Great Horned Owl over there and will he hear me call back?




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