2:19 PM
47°
Today, I felt none of the bitterness I experienced the last time I was at Clark Reservation. My fingers weren't stuffed into thick gloves. I could inhale without the air freezing the inside of my nose. I could see the ground in patches. Tree roots, rocks, broken branches, and little green ferns showed themselves after months of hiding under the snow.
Cracks and groans created a continuous background melody. Tree branches whined as they rubbed viciously against one another in the strong wind. Icy patches made the boulder-covered path slippery. Water rushed in small rivers beneath the icy layer. The ice squealed and cracked as it split and melted.
I walked and slid over the icy patches to view Glacier Lake. The surface was milky white. A few dark holes with creeping cracks looked like sleeping spiders on the lake's surface. Those spiders would grow and grow until they engulfed the lake.
I've mentioned Cliff Trail is made up of large boulders. The snow hid the cracks—some thick, some deep, some thin, some shallow—and created lurking traps. I had been careful with my footing ever since my fall during the first winter trip to the park. Today, I didn't need as much caution. The cracks were visible. Snow melted and ran down the rock. Tall boulders hovering over the path dripped.
I left the path and entered a large patch of land free of snow. The ground was a damp mosaic of leaves. The colors were faded reds, browns and greens. Broken branches lay crisscrossed and tangled. The wind picked up. I heard it rushing like a giant wave through the pines. I waited. The force of the wind slammed against me then roared onward.
The wind was refreshing. The sound of ice cracking and water flowing filled me with excitement. I could smell. After weeks of inhaling the same frozen air, the earth had started to thaw. With the thaw, came the smells. Each time winter faded in California, I would open my windows and let the spring-scented air fill my home. That air is intoxicating. It's hopeful. I felt those memories tumble back to me as I stood in the park. This warm day may have been teasing me. The cracks in the boulders may fill again with this season's snow. The damp leaves and little ferns may once again hide. The spidery cracks in the lake may shrink until they are squashed out of existence.
It doesn't matter. Today I heard the water rushing, dripping, and plopping. I heard the wind sing and roar. I saw ice shatter. I smelled damp earth. This was better than letting spring air fill my house. I was not just inhaling the hope of spring. I watched water melt into spring. The hope was, at least for today, a reality.
3 comments:
I love the sleeping spiders description about the lake. I love the wind and the way it makes the world creak, groan and come to life even though the buds haven't formed on the trees. Your pictures are great and I wish my camera still worked, although my backyard is not nearly as photogenic as your place. Keep hanging in there, Spring is coming!
I love seeing those brilliant green ferns and moss looking so much like spring right along side the images of snow. I t gives me hope that sping will be baking its way to the interior of the country soon, too. I also love the very striking image of the sleeping spider--very nice.
I appreciate the palpable, auditory sense of place I'm getting from all your entries, this one in particular. We so often pay attention to our vision, but we neglect our other senses. Having that added dimension, along with the photos, makes me feel very present indeed.
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