The decks are scarred and peeling, but I love seeing them. The wood pile has emerged with all its accompanied mud and guts, I’m OK with that. The earth is fighting its way back in this season. Stabbing forth, refusing to be ignored and frozen out.
Deer tracks stud the ruts in the driveway, mud season is upon us and the vibrant scent of thawing ground is a gift before the pollen flows. I want the pollen for my bees. Just recently there was a horrible wreck of a tractor-trailer truck loaded with bees. So many pollinators lost and no one to stand in for them at the next stop.
I listen to the low rumble of a motorcycle. Respectful of the frost heaves on the road below, it passes slowly echoing the water trickling on all sides. The world is full of sound and light and hours.
Suddenly there is outdoor space and light to expand into. Appropriate foot wear stands at the ready by every portal so I can dash out to see what bird is making that noise.
For now the ground is scrabbly and rough. Soon the green will envelope and soften the wounds. Until it does, chasing the light at the end of the day will suffice…