4:12 PM
17°
I think I've done well this winter. I've adjusted to living in a place that gets a lot of snow. Though I've grown tired of the cold, I have still enjoyed the beauty of the snowflakes, the icicles, and the frozen bodies of water. Friends here have informed me that Syracuse's snowstorms can last until May. Learning that piece of knowledge lowered my spirits a little, but I knew I would appreciate the warm months more than I ever have before.
Yesterday, Syracuse was 52°. My husband and I have one car, so it can be difficult to make my trips to Clark Reservation during the week. I figured the warmth would linger for today. I didn't check the weather, which is typically wrong anyways. A lot of snow melted. The ice in the parking lots cracked. Rivers of water flowed under and over the ice. The air felt wonderful. I managed to stand outside without putting on a thick coat and gloves. The air rejuvenated me. I laughed.
Like I said, I was doing okay with the winter, but to get a taste of spring followed by a heavy snowstorm felt cruel. This morning, the snow and wind created thick, white flurries that severely limited visibility, so I waited until it calmed to leave for Clark Reservation. By late afternoon, the thick snowfall had turned light and gentle. I took the break in the storm to head out.
Again, nobody was at the park. I've liked being the only person there in the past. Today, it added to my bitterness. I kept thinking, "I wish I had gone yesterday." Perhaps I would have seen some animals. I could have seen patches of the ground. I had missed the opportunity.
I decided to take the Mildred Faust Trail. The park's information boards gave me some background on Dr. Mildred E. Faust. For 39 years, she was a professor of botany at Syracuse University. She created a large flora list for Onondaga County, and she contributed a large amount of data about New York State flora. She used to bring her students to Clark Reservation to indulge their botanical experiences.
After learning about Dr. Faust, I felt better. I imagined walking around as one of her students as she pointed out the different trees by their bark. Her passion lingered in this place. I wrapped my scarf around my face and walked along the trail, her trail. The snowy lane was bordered by brittle trees. The wind howled and battered their limbs. Their branches swayed and squeaked.
I ended up cutting through the trees to end up on a trail that looped around back to the parking lot. I passed the caves where the thick pillars of ice had been three weeks ago. The thick pillars were gone. They melted in yesterday's sunshine. Today, new little icicles hung from the top of the cliffs. I had seen patches of muddy, green grass emerge yesterday. Birds had chirped excitedly, but I was back to the cold and the silence. The water had sprung to life only to freeze once again.
As I walked, I came across a group of cedar trees. One was broken and covered in a sheet of snow, but the others stood tall. After passing all the empty, brittle trees, this little cluster of trees brightened my mood. They looked alive. The green needles were high; I wanted to reach them, so I could breath in their scent. The other trees would brighten with color again. Their display of life would return. For now, they continued to crack and groan against the biting wind. The day of warmth had not fooled them. I erased the last of my bitterness in the presence of the cedars.
As I entered the parking lot, six white gulls flew across the sky. I left in a far better mood than when I arrived.
3 comments:
Erin, I know how you feel. Thursday and Friday were beautiful and warm in Pittsburgh, and I mistakenly thought the weekend would be too. I was wrong, and it made the cold all the more difficult to deal with yesterday. I was hoping to get a warm day for my next visit, but I'll just have to see how that works out. I have to take what I can get during these months.
"Again, nobody was at the park. I've liked being the only person there in the past. Today, it added to my bitterness. I kept thinking, "I wish I had gone yesterday." Perhaps I would have seen some animals. I could have seen patches of the ground. I had missed the opportunity."
This paragraph is packed with so much emotion. Perhaps because of how you described the spring and then the snowstorms. I'm sure New York is much like western PA. We get a taste of spring, and then winter hits us with at least one more big snow or ice storm. We had nice weather here for a few days, in the 50s and 60s. Birds sang, the sun was warm, and I drove to and from work with my car windows down a couple inches for the first time this year. But then it went into the 30s, and tonight begins a segment of wintry mix. :( I know your pain, but you wrote it so eloquently in that little paragraph about betrayal and winter making you feel isolated and just one day later than everything else.
I too can understand the sentiment of having missed out on the day somehow. Our first really warm day was a few weeks ago, and I was trapped inside working all day, thinking the next day would also be as nice.
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