Spring: Music to our ears

Wyatt the dog in a snow patch
Wyatt soaks up winter’s last vestige.

We sped west against the wind, accompanied by something buoyant and Baroque beamed from the classical radio station in the city Wyatt the dog and I were leaving behind. The music faded to static in the Front Range foothills before I could learn the composer.

Somewhere in Pike National Forest….

It was a moonless Sunday morning, “bible black” to borrow from Dylan Thomas, though three illuminated crucifixes pierced the sanctity of predawn dark from the nearby hillsides and broadcast their makers’ piety to the heavens. I’m no biblical scholar, but I think Jesus was speaking a little more metaphorically when he said, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

tree stump with lichen
I lichen this stump to a spring day.

The sun rose with little fanfare, its entrance undermined by a curtain of clouds. The temperature flirted with freezing, but spring’s fresh presence was palpable as Wyatt and I ventured into Pike National Forest along a faded four-wheel-drive path.

The air was musty and pungent. Lichen swathed trees and boulders in pastel green. Overachieving buds stretched for light.

Wyatt greets the darling buds of March (apologies to Shakespeare; they’re early this year).

By late morning, the sun elbowed its way through the clouds. The trail ended in a circular glade, where we paused our ramble so Wyatt could enjoy a snack and I could long for the banana I left in the car.

I reclined on a throne-like stump while Wyatt unearthed and cavorted with a baseball-size rock; I recalled a quote from the legendary Rogers Hornsby: “People ask me what I do in the winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” For Wyatt, this was spring training and opening day rolled into one; Reese and Miles have graduated to front-office roles.

No Louisville Sluggers here; just downed timber from Colorado’s beetle outbreak.

Though I missed the rest of our crew, I savored the solitude—the respite from the real world (temporary ignorance of whatever destructive fuckwittery our pseudo-president and his corrosive cabal were up to indeed provided brief bliss). And we were not truly without company.

Birds sailed by and bustled in the woods in more varieties than one could keep up with, chattering, chirping and warbling all the while. My inability to determine their species made their songs no less enjoyable.

Wyatt the dog napping
Spring is exhausting.

2 thoughts on “Spring: Music to our ears

Add yours

  1. It does the soul good doesn’t it to see whatever ridiculous posturing we feeble humans get up to, nature retains her dignity and beauty.

    Brexshit having been triggered here, I await the apocalypse. It will bring little satisfaction to say “I told you so” to the Brexiteers when it happens.

    Liked by 1 person

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