loving each season
If Minnesota was a drug, this would be a high for me. After months of inner air and bitter cold and wind, the windows are open. It is a sensory experience, an explosion of life. There is too much change to grasp. There is an overwhelming sense of wonder.
A lone frog croaks in cold swamp water, warmed by the sun. Dandelion shoots push through tar or asphalt; a life force bold and encouraging. There is heartbreak as a robin bangs into the picture window and lies dead on the lawn.
I watch radar on a weather site. Lines of rain, thunder and lightning blow this way. There are green lawn shoots and white flowers back in the shady pine forest. I marvel at red maple buds and absorb vitamin D from the sun. Days are longer. There are ditches filled with water where snowdrifts stood. The gray and darkness of winter is gone; replaced by life.
Time itself travels more switftly, through months of summer and auturmn. Sap flows. Life is irresistable. The woodtick on my leg is flicked away. Tractors plow and disk fields. Small clouds of dust follow the drag .The night sound of frogs is heard.
A Path to Solitude by Dan Gibson
Dan Gibson's a Path to solitude
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Dan Gibson's Solitudes
Autumn comes quickly
There is a sadness in autumn. The end of the life cycle is near when the spectacular show of colours, beauty and aromas bowl you over. Summer is a time of watermelon juice and fresh strawberries. The routine of lawn mowing and midday heat is absorbed. It is spring which deserves the honor for its ability to awaken that childlike sense of wonder and newness.
A butterfly or tiny pine captures our hearts. We are shocked so much can happen so quickly. We desire it to slow down. We realize things are out of our control. The angle of the sun in the northern hemisphere and changes in the jet stream are intellectually understood. When you stand on the shores of a deep bluegreen Lake Superior with crashing waves freed from pure ice, your heart softens.
There is warm granite to sit on, sounds of rapids, and fresh fried smelt to enjoy. You're able to go outside without a parka or stocking cap. You absorb in your soul the water of thousands of lakes and streams and mud puddles. This 'drug' gives you a high which tends to be habit forming. For all who endure the northern winter and leave for warmer climes; there is no condemnation. It is is hard to put your finger on that longing,. There is a restlessness and unsettled feeling. Fiddlehead ferns unfold in the woods.
The pain and work which spring involves is healing after a winter of reading books by the light of a fire or lamp. It could be the charged air after the storm or rush of oxygen from the leaves. Maybe the bright light of the sun and longer days awaken us again. This is more than an addiction. it's an epiphany; an awakening of life with no side effects. This season of dirt under your fingernails is a cleansing time. Thoreau said "never trust an idea born indoors". We pity the worker who misses a beautiful day because of an indoors job. We miss loved ones not here physically to share this beauty.
Spring showers its magic across borders and terrain. There are sights, sounds and tastes which stretch back decades and are still new. Spring is also a time of weariness. We desire not to waste it with a nap or long sleep.
It is a good thing to share spring with someone. Some struggle to survive the winter and succumb to the numbing cold of February . They miss this life's springtime. I feel sorry for the skunk spending a long arctic night curled in a hole and wanders in a stupor of warmth and is struck crossing the road.
Come home to the Minnesota spring you are soulsick for. Life is short. So is springtime. If you cannot; the best gift is to allow me to enjoy it for you, for it will soon be gone.
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