"You and I can turn and look at the silent river and wait.
We know the current is there, hidden, and there are comings and goings
from miles away that hold the stillness exactly before us. What the
river says, that is what I say." ~ William Stafford
Out past next year's firewood
and beyond the grape yard
through a door of golden light in a cedar wall
I peek in at the mushroom laying yard.
All is still.
I walk along the cedars, past the tree where crows roost.
There were no crows here when we came, nearly a year ago.
I am grateful the crows have returned to play their role
in keeping nature whole and balanced.
Ahead lies the trail into the woods.
Sunlight and shadows,
dimples in the snow,
a wild meander of animal prints.
The wind leaves her mark here too,
in wind-dance patterns on the snow.
Elegant, elongated tracks lead into shadow
and to the quiet edge of the dark water swamp.
I look toward a stand of slender silver maples.
All is still.
My feet crunch on the snow.
The sun pours silent golden music down through the trees...
the Song of Spring Approaching.
Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you golden music and the joys of spring.
