Mid-afternoon, late March, 2021.
Let’s take a walk…
We intend to walk for thirty-three minutes, a long enough time to amuse and exercise us and the dog, and a short enough time to let us return to the projects we are working on before it’s suppertime already….
Out the door, through the hedge, uphill on the road behind, and then down the path toward the brook.
We had seventy-seven hundredths of an inch of rain yesterday.
The moss is glowing green.
A strong westerly breeze has blown the clouds away.
A remnant dead oak trunk stands out against sky’s blustery azure.
Turn yourself just a bit, and the twists take on a totally new character.
We reach the brook.
Across the water, farther into the swamp, catkins hang straight down, laden with pollen, a gift to the bees.
And if we look down we can see the world above, rippled into abstraction.
At the very edge of the water, moss sporophytes are extending.
We push on uphill, through the undegrowth. We pass neighbors’ houses, and end up two ponds downstream.
We flush swans from a swampy patch at the head of the pond.
We realize that our thirty-three minutes have passed and head back.
We climb up a hill, walk through an overgrown field, and reach the road, and then home.
The first-early daffodils are blooming on the edge of the yard.