The tenuous nature of the season was on full display last Saturday as we took a walk with Mr. David Byrne on leash down the Kawishiwi Falls hiking trail down to the falls. In a tiny vernal-type pool nestled in the shallow of the rock cliffs, snow melt had frozen over with a skim ice crust and trapped the intricate five-pointed star of a woven spider web. There was no sign of the weaver. I snapped a picture and hoped for contrast. It wasn’t going to last long. Before we’d made it back up to the car, the whole thing would likely have dissolved into water and the mastery of design would only be a memory.
This coming Saturday, as of now, the temps are supposed to be in the 20s instead of 50s. We might get more snow. This is, as we’ve all said before, April in the Arrowhead. Constant is fleeting in Minnesota.
This morning was springy though, as signified by the songs of the birds outside my bedroom windows that began around 3 a.m. juncos, song sparrows, robins, starlings and an occasional red-winged blackbird. It was a chorus that I woke to and I haven’t heard singing on into mid-morning for many a month.
There were remnants of rain and/ or dew on the grass that is more green than it is brown. The strawberry plants seem happy and ready to run. Yesterday I noticed the bright and bulbous red tops of the new rhubarb cresting the ground by our full-tothe- brim water barrel. Ninety-five percent of the snow in our yard has receded. The rakes have replaced the shovels.
We had our first decent antique pick of the spring and I wore the wrong shoes because enough of it was outside that my feet were freezing by the end and because I kept stepping in shallow standing water as I traversed the out buildings and grounds. It felt good to be outside in a flannel shirt and tee, to know that it wouldn’t be dark until after seven and that I could go on a long walk without wiping out on unseen ice, even when the sun did set. It felt good to hunt for unknown treasure. It even felt good to come home with wet and cold feet, because I knew it was temporary.
Everything feels like it is changing rapidly and that we need to be happy and focused on the moment because of the fragility of the moments. The bird songs will stick around, of course, but they may never have the same orchestral construct.
The spider web captured in the ice -- that, I’ve never actually seen before and may never again. The waking hour moments between three and four in the morning are lost in time. I won’t miss winter, but I will miss some of the quiet, some of the dark and on more than one occasion, I will miss the cold.
Enjoy today. Walk in the woods. Reach for your stars.
