March 10 2008 Michigan
March 10 2008 Swede Rd.
Walk on the snow deep, yet firm enough so that only every third or fourth step drops a few inches down; following tracks of coyote, their swinging gait, and the thin line of a fox coming through the saplings and adolescents leaving a signature of silent paws pressed in snow.
Once I used to write enough that every page was like one of those paw prints, an aspect of a continuity, an intuitive action traipsing through days and weeks leaving a trail of impressions pressed on the snow.
Now in the light, late winter breeze, the sun appearing in rare brilliance only to slip over yonder hill, and trees are slumbering sentinels waiting for the heat and light to come…like we wait, grow restless, pine for t-shirts, beach days, green everywhere, even spring thunderstorms to weather in exotic sensations, as real as now, this toe-cold time.
45 minutes here and no cars come through…the gentle moaning wind from the south sifts invisible fingers through leafless branches and swaying trunks of sleeping trees. There is magic here, a palpable sense of belonging, a primal pulse beneath every sense that sounds a note of home, of here; this spot on the curving globe, this dot on the arc of my time, my presence, my purpose, my nothingness, my everything…
So long I’ve been a seed, a spore, floating in ethereal currents…now it is time to grow roots and dig in deep…