Day 30

Sun’s shining.  Snow’s melting.  Water’s running.  Gloves are in the pockets.  Jacket’s unzipped.  Sunglasses are on.

Birds are calling.  Gulls of all things.  Also titmice, woodpeckers, crows.  Strangely silent are the nuthatches and chickadees.

Even WinterWoman enjoys the change of the season.  As I sit, I wonder what flowers will bloom here.  Wild Geranium, certainly.  Jack-in-the-Pulpit over there.  And just down the path that huge patch of Mayapples.  Soon enough…

 

I take the long way home and am treated to a demonstration of how Pileated Woodpecker searches for food.  (It was interesting to see Monarch’s video, but to see it in person is even better.)

When I emerge from the woods… Killdeer!  They’re back!  It must be spring.

Lolli will need a bath.  Mud season is upon us.

Day 29

Every colored object absorbs the sun’s heat and reflects it back to melt shapes into the snow.  Trees grow from cylindrical wells.  Leaves are recessed in perfect custom-shaped frames.  Twigs lie at the bottom of custom-shaped troughs.  A steady, gentle rain does its part to remove the snow or at least attempts to.

Day 28

Missed yesterday.  Ran out of gas.  Literally and figuratively.  Thanks to Glen:  he gets hero points for rescuing me.

Today, I lie on my log and take silly upside down and crooked photos.  I don’t know what it means.

Analyze me.

Day 26

Three fingers fit between the sun and the horizon.  Forty-five minutes until sunset.  Falling temperatures are turning the perfect snowman snow crunchy on top.  Tufted Titmouse sings me into the woods.  If other birds are still singing, I can’t hear them over the crunching of my boots on snow.

When I settle into my Sit Spot, White-Breasted Nuthatch’s nasal “pent” sounds a few times before he goes silent.  Downy Woodpecker’s calls sound panicky and he seems confused as he flits from this tree to that.  Crows caw loudly, distantly as they settle into a roost somewhere.

I review this excellent day that started in fog, then burned into bright sunshine.  As I take the long way home, I notice the sky has turned an unnamable color.  Not cream or yellow.  Not orange or bronze or copper.  Similar to the dry Beech leaves that still cling to the trees, but not that either…

Day 25

Gray dusk.  Lifeless time.  Diurnal animals have bedded down.  Nocturnal animals have yet to rise.  A light snow falls.  Some flakes are individual.  Many band with others into clumps.  The breeze is strong enough to wiggle the leaves, but not strong enough to rustle them.  The only sound is that of snow falling on snow.

Oh yes.  It makes a sound.

Day 24

Fresh powder stopped falling in the middle of the night.  Since then squirrels, chipmunks and a fox have been here.  Look there:  a subnivean traveler was forced to surface where human footsteps have compressed the snow… but he disappeared beneath the snow on the other side of the trail.

Shadows dance across the fresh canvas in synch with the dances of clouds above.

Day 23

After shoveling the driveway and walk for the 3rd time in 24 hours, I leave to play in the snow…  My snowshoes take me to a spot where there is a large stand of mixed conifers – primarily white spruce and red pine.  When I pause to rest and reflect I realize that the schedule for the rest of my day has no room for a visit to my regular Sit Spot.

I close my eyes and breathe in This Spot.  Branches that gave up their ice jackets two days ago sport new ones today.  The wind makes a weird music:  the sighing characteristic of passage through pine needles accented with the clacking together of stiff ice-covered branches.

Today’s lesson:  Sit Spot is more a state of mind than a particular location.

Day 22

I settle onto my log bench, take a deep breath, and prepare to listen to the sounds of the woods in winter at night.

Lolli can never settle down when we come at this time of day.  She runs like a crazy person – always following the same route – to the left, around that pile of brush, and back to the path… then to the right, around another pile of brush… a giant figure eight.  And always at break-neck speed.  I know there must be wildlife… scents that get her riled up, but the animals never show themselves.  Eventually I talk Lolli into sitting by my feet… still, she must chew… doing her part to break down organic material and return it to the soil.  She destroys a piece of log.

The “wintery mix” that makes spattery sounds as it hits my jacket both soaks into the fabric, and accumulates in white piles in the folds.  A loud rumbling noise makes me think I’m in for another experience with thunder, though I saw no flash this time.  It turns out to be human sounds, amplified tonight for some reason… a plane overhead, snow plows and salt trucks on nearby roads.

Lolli and I both hear a rustling in the brush and we listen intently for a few seconds.  The log is more interesting and she returns to chewing.  I strain to see something, but alas…

As I return to my car I’m astounded that in such a short time my inbound tracks have become camouflaged by accumulation and the sculpting of the wind.

Day 21

The sun beats down on the ice-encrusted trees and they weep.  Some tears are liquid.  Some are crystalline.  Today’s lesson:  Sometimes you just have to cry, not because of sadness or melancholy… but because of the intense beauty that surrounds us.

Day 20

A proper visit to my Sit Spot when the conditions are fine takes one hour.  Twenty minutes to get there.  Twenty minutes of meditation.  Twenty minutes to get home.  Today, with only the one hour to spare, the meditation will be consumed by the walk.

A quarter inch of ice covers everything.  Each step must be made with utmost caution.  My back starts to ache from the stress of taking such care with each footstep.

It occurs to me as I pick my way slowly that each walk may be a metaphor for some aspect of my life.  I remember a Zen saying:  “True Zen meditation is not thinking of god while you mow the lawn.  It is mowing the lawn while you mow the lawn.”  Today, I can only walk.  I can think of no other thing…  or I will fall flat on my…

Today’s walk teaches me that I must attend to the task at hand with 100% of my attention.  What?  No more multi-tasking???