Thursday, March 27, 2008
Photo by S. Auberle
No, not yet Spring.
And no longer Winter.
I'm adding a new season to the other four. This season of hope, expectation, possibility, promise: Wing. Yes, Wing is the name for this season--a combination of winter and spring. And a season of wings...the migrating birds, birds in their nuptial plumage, their joy in songs of new light.
Have settled in this beautiful place of snowy woods and ice-bound waters, after my own migration north. Arrived here voiceless, without words. That's how it feels and I've been reluctant to resume this blog because of that.
It was a long trip, full of every kind of weather March can throw at you--ice, snow, fog, sun, wind and rain--beautiful weather, but treacherous on some days. Seeing the crane migration was unforgettable, magical even. Someday, if and when I find the words, I'll write about it.
The visit home was poignant, bittersweet, as those visits often are--but good.
And now, having exhausted my small store of words, I'll return to silence, a quality long undervalued. Return to that ice-edged beach I walked yesterday, its sand winter-scoured and clean, the open waters that shade of heartbreak blue. I'll watch again for the winter ferry, a few ducks, the pure grace of two swans rounding the point.
Listen to the wind...