Tonight I went running down the backside of my little mountain… the same trail they closed in a February storm due to the dangerous wind-fall. For so long this trail had been the same, cold earth… limp ferns.
When I came around the old gnarled maple the waxy scent of salmonberries gave way to the sharp acid of skunk cabbage.
The creek is running again.
And high above the trilliums blooming rise the cedars, still beautiful.
This spring unfurling always catches me slightly off guard. How sudden and quick. Spring is a woman come undone, shaking her hair out she is exuberant in her chartreuse dress dotted with daffodils.
The kind of woman all the boys want to take under the fresh pink blossoms, the kind of woman others envy for her natural beauty.
There will not be many more runs like this one… soon I will have to find new paths. New and wonderful details. But still, there is this mountain trail. There is the cedar and the salmonberry. There is the dog at the fourth house on the right and the old man who waters his garden every evening. Not gone, just altered.
Pressed here. For remembrance.
G.
2 comments:
Lovely.
Thank you MB.....
G.
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