Snow, melt, snow… and so it goes. A couple days ago, the snow had melted and I was walking in the woods. I came to a place where Rocky Mountain Maple leaves were draped on the forest floor―surrendered to the earth. Their color was gone. I could feel the weighted call of “return” return” pulling the thin bodies, and yet there was a kind of motion and fluidity in the leaves―as if all the wind dance was remembered and caught in still life.
The wild turkey toms are fanning about the hillsides, fields and outside our bedroom window―intricate feather lifting and spreading as they walk.
The young furry catkins of willows shine a soft silver light against grey skies.
Old magpie nests pull me into wonder.
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