It’s the kind of warm foggy spring evening that makes me want to talk like Edgar Allan Poe, or Tom Robbins. But who listens to such prattling nonsense anymore?
The tree buds are only in their third day of bursting forth, and there is a wet fresh green everywhere. The moss is like pudding. Moist. Rich.
A raven snatches a bug from the thick grass and while looking around for thieves, stuffs it into a crevice in the bark. He goes back to his search for more bugs. He stuffs another in the crack. He’s gathering a spring feast!
A spring walk – rain or shine – always reminds me of what I do have, rather than what I do not. I think it is all the green. It’s the most optimistic colour. Coming back every year – making me believe all over again in the possibilities.