Searching for spring

Yesterday was one of those truly fine days that happen as a rare moment in Wyoming.  Beautiful sky, a bit of a breeze, warm, sunny, and just slightly humid lending a spring softness to the air.  The dog, the sister and I went for a ramble along the river.  The river is flowing quite swift, muddy, and to the banks.  Not really with run off yet, it's still too early for that, but with melted ice, and water let out of reservoirs in preparation for run off.  There were some geese waddling about making their rude goose noises, a few other birds flitting about and once we rose out of the river and flood channels, lots of pronghorn and deer. The wildlife is looking quite fat and healthy for early spring.  Probably, they have been helping themselves to somebody's alfalfa bales all winter.

We looked over a sad pathway of memorial trees placed by parents for their children.  It is always tragic when an infant or child dies, but in reading the dates and names on the memorial, I realize it is tragic to a parent no matter how old the child is when they die.  We are not meant to outlive our children.  I hope I don't.

The dog enjoyed his bit of "off-leash" freedom, but he is such a companion and such a city slicker that he doesn't wander far from my side.  He runs ahead on the trail, stopping every few moments to look back and be certain that I'm still following.  He rarely goes off the path, and seems skeptical when I do.  He, like myself, has felt a certain sense of abandonment and fear of being alone.

There were very tiny tender new shoots of green pushing hard to get through the matted down grass.  The grass was quite long and healthy at the first snow, so the flattened, dense mat is a challenge for spring to find its way through.  But it prevails.  New life, new growth, new opportunity for survival.

Searching for spring on the first calendar day of spring can prove challenging and futile in the harsh Wyoming climate.  But it's there.  That first glimmer of the summer to come.  That first refreshing breath that doesn't freeze your lungs and make you cough.  That first twitter of nest building birds, tentatively launching their nursery building. That first muddy flow in the rivers that promises a good growing season.

 I had to look deep into my heart to find some glimmers of spring.  It's been a long brutal wintertime in my soul, and I am weary of the dark, cold, lonely season.  I need a new season, just like the earth.  So I sucked in a deep cleansing breath, shook out my winter brain, and now am ready to bravely approach some new growth. I have a little muddy release from the reservoir of my heart in order to make room there.  That mud wasn't benefiting me in any way, it was just preventing fresh water from coming in.   It may be difficult to push up through last year's matted down, unharvested stuff, but if a tiny blade of crested wheat grass can make it, I am sure I can.  And the dog may need to wander off the path a bit too!