When did spring arrive, where was I?
Cloistered in my office, imprisoned by debt.
Surrounded by computers, telephone, nubbed ceiling, instead of sky.
When did spring arrive, where was I?
When last I drove this path, snow graced the hillsides.
Now earth and pine needles are exposed, the land has dried.
At long last I break away, head to the mountains to ski. But winter has fled my planned destination. I won’t ply these trails of white for a year to come. Robin’s leave off getting drunk on juniper berries, turn to feasting on worms. Bright yellow buttercups have mysteriously replaced the ice. When did spring arrive, where was I?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m in love with the sun, have had my fill of skiing, I’m ready to get my feet dirty, paddle pregnant rivers, summit nearby mountains. But I’ve been blindsided. It is the transition I missed. It seems only moments ago I was geared up for winter sports. Kicking and gliding, kicking and gliding my way across fields of snow, buried to my knees in rivers of white, skiing the backcountry whenever I could make the time. Now that time is gone. I got sidetracked from living, supplanted too much work, forgetting so much fun. I missed the coming of spring, the return of the sun.
Instead of a quick trip away from the office I must push on, go to the end of the road to find snow for my skis and me. Do I dare neglect responsibility for so long? Who is there to judge me, punish me, I work for myself. But I’ve become a tough boss, a slave driver, wrapped up in a material world that inhales my money, devours my time, keeps me chained to my desk so that I missed the change of season, subtle as it is. One must pay close attention, lean in with listening for the drip, drip, drip of melting snow, feel warming winds on face, carry skis across the occasional dirt patch on exposed bits of snow trails, notice the Trumpeter’s swan song. The energy inside your soul must shift and awaken with the rousing earth or you will be caught, unaware, causing confusion and depression.
It is a lovely day at the end of the road. Strapping on skis, adjusting gaiters, donning light gloves, I head off toward a valley nestled in the high Cascades that I imagine might be seeing the return of its lovely lake as snow lifts its covering blanket. This may be my last chance to ski to it, have the untracked snowbound road all to myself, the valley free of automobiles and tourists for few more weeks. The conditions are slushy; clouds mix with blue skies, a hallmark of spring. The creek that was buried in snow last time I came this way is moving water instead of static ice. It makes for a pleasant, chattering companion. Eight miles behind me now; the big valley spreads before me, a serpentine creek breaks the smoothness of the whitewashed landscape, winding its way to the lake that has begun to reclaim the snowfields. Geese and ducks and swans have found open water. Sun and blue sky and feathery white clouds top the mountains all around. A big, silver It is a lovely day at the end of the road. Strapping on skis, adjusting gaiters, donning light gloves, I head off toward a valley nestled in the high Cascades that I imagine might be seeing the return of its lovely lake as snow lifts its covering blanket. This may be my last chance to ski to it, have the untracked snowbound road all to myself, the valley free of automobiles and tourists for few more weeks. The conditions are slushy; clouds mix with blue skies, a hallmark of spring. The creek that was buried in snow last time I came this way is moving water instead of static ice. It makes for a pleasant, chattering companion. Eight miles behind me now; the big valley spreads before me, a serpentine creek breaks the smoothness of the whitewashed landscape, winding its way to the lake that has begun to reclaim the snowfields. Geese and ducks and swans have found open water. Sun and blue sky and feathery white clouds top the mountains all around. A big, silver The creek that was buried in snow last time I came this way is moving water instead of static ice. It makes for a pleasant, chattering companion.
Eight miles behind me now; the big valley spreads before me, a serpentine creek breaks the smoothness of the whitewashed landscape, winding its way to the lake that has begun to reclaim the snowfields. Geese and ducks and swans have found open water. Sun and blue sky and feathery white clouds top the mountains all around. A big, silver log beckons. I sit on its dry, hairy, bark-less hide and listen to spring settle into the mountains. It is warm so I sprawl upon the log, face to the sun, and nap. I don’t think about work, I don’t rush to get back to town, I immerse myself in nature, catch up with the turning earth. When did spring arrive, where was I? Here I am, arrived.