|I walked out at 6:30 this morning to ready the car for going to the office.|
|I laughed when I looked around, thinking that I knew the trick.|
|I would run back into the house looking annoyed and then come back out again.|
|When I did, our local Weatherman would probably be standing there on the green grass in the sunshine, pointing and laughing, saying, "April Fool".|
But it didn't happen. I did, however, hear a mourning dove for the first time this year. I agreed that we had something to mourn so I joined him in song . . .
"Whooo, whooo, whooo, my dear,
Who the hell spends April here?"
|On Friday Owen and I realized that it was less than a week until spring arrived . . . so we went looking for it.|
|We looked in the distance. The sky was blue but no songbirds or daffodils could be seen.|
|We thought if we walked down the hill we might find something promising.|
|There were shadows of branches but no buds.|
|No frogs waiting at the wellhouse.|
|I guess we'll just have to be patient.|
|'Tis a Christmas morning|
|Fluffy snow lies all around|
|All is merry and bright|
|It came to us last night|
|The reindeer tracks are covered|
|But I don't have to see|
|I know that Nicholas came around|
|And left some gifts for me|
Leaves have fled as have the birds, wind's icy fingers frost the valley and the river flows cold.
Bridges always draw attention but sometimes more so in a bleak landscape. In summer's warm cover they are not so visible, a lessened tendency to ponder crossing to somewhere else. But now, this arc stands starkly, a reminder that it may allow us to be more rapidly somewhere we might not otherwise be.
This may not be beautiful but its steel script is an invitation to cross. Look on the other side. The sun brightens directional signs. Maybe a new destination. Maybe a formerly known landscape to be found again.