The landscape had transformed: swept with new grass and young leaves on the trees, I walked looking up and seeing their new forms in the high branches. I looked for the bank of gorgeous purple violets but a fallen tree blocked their sunshine.
This is wildflower time. In the grassy gulley: dozens of pure white trilliums bob in the breeze, too many to count. The pink ones, a treasure.
It is a completely different experience than being inside my house. The wind is rich with the scent of balsam poplar and song birds whistle clear notes that cut through even the most powerful lawn mower. I wondered about having a “bed roll” so I could wander in more quiet places and sleep there, too.
I walked into a field graciously left alone by the St. John family, I believe. The “morning branch” is where you can sit and watch the sun rising, a good resting place.
I moved west along a marshy forest to get further from that lawn mower walking on a game trail. I don’t really like that term because it makes me think of hunting which is furthest from my feelings when I’m out there. A deer trail. A coyote trail. A raccoon, skunk, and porcupine trail. I met a raccoon in the early morning recently, taking advantage of the easy trail. Who wouldn’t, especially those with their bellies low to the ground. Creature trail.
As I walked and lost the grip of my thoughts, I heard “poetry of the soul” and a great wind swept through the trembling aspens. The land was pulling on my heart and my love for it had begun to flow out of me wherever I turned my attention.
Food and Herb Blog 