March 10, 2013
4.6 mile run with the dogs
50 degrees, wet, slushy.
I took the driveway out to the road. The driveway is very muddy. I skipped and hopped between relatively
dry places. The dogs tried
avoiding the puddles too. The
first mile felt easy and good to my body.
Later my spirit improved when I saw my first robin of spring. When it first flew in front of me, the
distance made it difficult to see what it was, but it had that distinctive,
darting, flirting sort of flight that I associate with robins. It let me get close enough to confirm
its rusty breast and yellow beak.
Are there bugs available for it yet? The rain had stopped but small trees hung with water
droplets, and, for a moment, they looked like mini holiday lights all dripping
from the branches. I had to make a
pitstop, and to do so, ran past the Watching Log. It is breaking down so quickly now. It holds memories of Tansy times. The memories aren’t breaking down like
the log though. I wonder if the
log will be still solid enough for my Woods and Wetlands class to sit on this
summer.
Chickadees sang me around the big lake. They are so insistent, and their voices
are varied. I realize I can never
come close to truly making their sounds.
What am I lacking in my mouth to make such sounds? What is in their beaks or throats that
allows them? I heard the crows too.
They made me think of the owl book author.
I was so thirsty, and with melting snow and puddles
everywhere, my thirst was intensified.
The lake was a melting, shining mirror with ice still visible here and
there. When I saw the sap buckets
hanging from the maple tree taps, I had a taste memory from childhood. Nothing ever tasted better than the sap
in that cold bucket. I confess, I
took off my bright vest and snuck into that private woods with the dogs to try
for a palm-full of that sweet water.
All I was able to do with the lids firmly on, was reach in and dip my
fingertips, but I licked my fingers like a child, and the taste memory was
confirmed. I wished I had a long
straw to drink it. I was never
allowed much of it, in my memory of childhood, because it all had to go to make
syrup. How much sap can a maple
tree lose? Does it hurt the
tree? Do they have to alternate
trees yearly? I never thought to
ask. I don’t even know how to tap
a tree.
Coming around the little lake, I had a sudden scent
in my nose that I could not identify, but it was not of humans. It wasn’t quite the smell of spring,
but maybe the smell of warm and melting.
It was a sweet smell, and very faint. I felt as if it came from the lake, but I am not sure. It didn’t remain, or my nose adjusted
to it.
Yesterday we had a bluebird perched in the shrub
outside our window. What are they
eating? I have seen several of
them since January, and I can’t think how they are living here. This one sat so close to the window for
so long, I could clearly see and enjoy its blue-ness. The color of its breast is not unlike a robin’s.
On Friday I saw a woolly bear caterpillar, all
black, making its slow way across the lake road. It was quite large. I do not know what it is doing out, but
maybe the robin or blue bird can eat it.
I spent too much time indoors all week. I did not feed this part of my spirit
that was starving and thirsty. May
I remember to do so regularly.
March 11, 2013
The owl author talked about helping kids narrow
their focus for journaling by using a paper frame or picking one sense or one
element to write about.
Yesterday’s journaling was not the kind I usually do. I will experiment now with writing it
the way I usually do and see how it differs.
Heading
out with spirit cramped and my mind constrained. As soon as my shoes hit the mud and the smells of melting
and trills of chickadees entered my senses, I could feel my petals unfurling in
relief. My body settled into the
run, feet sending signals of life to every cell of my body. Wake up! It’s time to Breathe and Be. My nose, conflicted for days with artificial scents, opened
to a sweet, light smell of sap and moss and melting lake water. Now feet on wet clay, and all of my
internal antennae tuned to trees, water, birds, snow… the world that I belong
to; I missed it. The magnolia buds
beckon my thoughts toward a coming spring, and my excitement to encounter my
first robin rivaled and surpassed any knowledge gained in the last week in the
world of friends, teaching, books, and learning. There he was, yellow beak and distinctive flirtatious dance,
and he was all mine just then, looking at each other in recognition. My thirst for this absorption joined my
literal thirst, and the buckets of cold maple sap caught my eye, reminding me
of childhood. I considered, then
camouflaging myself, sinking into the melting wetness of the woods, reaching,
straining a bit, hand into bucket and fingers dipped into cold sap water. I know I should not be here, should not
interfere in what is not mine, but licking my fingers, I am a child again beneath
our maple trees, and the taste is the purest, faintly sweet and cold. It is worth the transgression. Soon I will hear the spring peepers
welcoming the trilling red-wings in the swamps, and, like all springs, will
loosen what is tight in me, will allow flow of words like sap to drip onto the
page as I try to bring it all with me wherever I go.
