At Four Cedars, my February ends much like it began. I make a cold morning's walk to the woodpile, marveling with each step at how beautiful and complex a barren landscape can appear when one is fortunate enough to take note. I am a lucky soul this morning to have so much to take in around me. The blue sky. The hoar frost. The deep snow pack showing evidence of scampering wildlife. The expanse of frozen water disappearing in the fog. And yes, the optimistic chirping of a nearby robin. It is the end of February, it reminds me. We have made it to the other side of winter, you and I. It may not be the warmer side, but surely it is the brighter side. Chirp. Chirp.
The TV weather person said today is our 80th day of snow pack. We haven't enjoyed much melting around here; it seems there aren't enough trees and buildings in these parts to absorb solar energy from our strengthening sun. And so our temps lag behind those enjoyed by our urban brethren. This seems a small trade-off today. I know the temperature is below zero and I must collect my wood, and yet I linger with my camera and my thoughts. It feels good to be part of the expanse, free from the oftentimes confining walls of a heated abode.
When busyness allows, I'll be keeping my eyes on the channel above, looking for signs of melting. Two months from now, this will be a bustling place with red and yellow winged blackbirds singing Spring's praises while mud hens chatter like old women at a hairdresser's shop. The rushes will change color, from tan to yellow to green and ultimately auburn. The wind will make the marsh dance. And I'll stop here to watch and listen as often as possible, for this is the view that lured me to this place nearly four years ago. This view. The stage for glorious sunsets. The balcony at nature's nightly operetta.At the corner of my vision I notice the hoar frost has saturated the ends of my hair. My desire to linger among the ice-coated limbs of the barren trees wanes as the cold penetrates my flesh. There is wood to retrieve and a home to warm this morning. I decide I will return to lake's edge later in the day when the sun is a greater ally against the chill. I bid the robin farewell. We shall meet again soon, my friend. We have both made it to better side of winter with our optimism intact.
