My woods are brown still, filled with dead leaves and broken sticks and trees that crashed down under the weight of ice this winter. As I walked the trails this week, I could smell the mud. Some puddles had just the thinnest layer of ice, not even thick enough to make a noise as I stomped through in my boots. The only green I could see was moss: brilliant mosses on old stumps and logs, on any surface raised about the suffocating layer of dead leaves.
But spring is coming. Last night, when the rain stopped, I opened my bedroom window a crack and music came in with a gust of cold air. The spring peepers are singing.
5 comments:
This whole post is speaking to my yearnings. We're more northerly than you, but the urge to spring is thrumming just under the ice.
Moss! I love the smell once it warms up a little. Like low tide, like....
Perfection. That photo took my breath away.
We trudged over snow and through mud today, and I loved the smell.
Spring peepers! Hooray!
I haven't heard them here yet. Maybe I'll keep my window open a crack tonight.
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