The mid-afternoon sun shines warm in a blue sky dabbed with clean white, cumulus clouds.
In a sky such as this, had she not already set, Grandmother Moon would wane bright and clear.
As I make my way to the woods, the northwest wind gusts strong, swaying the treetops,
cooling my back, awakening my senses.
Once through the gate that holds the four-wheeled day-trippers at bay, I slow my pace, ... and pause.
Scanning the native landscape, extending the senses out beyond flesh and bone,I wait,
for an invitation to proceed.
In the distance crows caw, a chickadee twitters, and a couple of robins touch down,
Scurry and stop. Look. Scurry and stop.
In the branches above another welcomes, "Cheerily, cheer-up cheerily".
And i, am no longer I.
Several paces in, their song beckons beyond the fence.
Over. Through. Down.
A gentle, slope of sparse new grass and evergreen leads
to a lovely pool dappled with sunlight and algae green.
Intermingled with heaps and clumps of pale,
dry grasses are stands of bare, crimson dogwood.
Perfect places from which to hide and sing.
Presently, there is silence.
Sitting on the slope of tender green, a discovery is made.
Scat, filled with tiny bone fragments and a large clump of long, red fur.
Too big to have come from fox, yet the fur itself looks like it might be.
Curious ... perhaps coyote?
Undisturbed, a pair of mallards rest along the west shore, enjoying one another's company.
The crows fly over in silence. Here, the world is silent and peaceful.
A single songster begins. Another joins. And yet another.
The sound rises and rises until the air is filled once more
with the high, thin ringing chorus of Spring Peepers.