In three days, the sun will be poised at the celestial equator, Spring will have officially arrived, and all might be well for those hours you can pull yourself away from the indoor cruelties of the dark news and into this astonishing light. I have seen this combination of royal blue skies and snow and the early gold and red buds of trees before in the high country of both New Mexico and Colorado, but close to home, somehow, that combination gives more strength to the heart.
The French Creek has been stocked. In the free water in sun spots, the ice has retreated and trout can be glimpsed hovering behind rocks and picking off any food that flows in the turbulence of either side. The territorial calls of chickadees, red-wings and titmice are stronger each morning. A few nights ago, a Great Horned owl came calling on the ridge line to the northeast. Light is driving the surge I too can feel breaking forth inside me, the one that welcomes each day’s higher arc of sun and warmth.
Some things in the world are close to eternal. This movement is one. Go out, go out and walk.
