March 2, 2011
It's the mud time, the path a murk of wet leaves and dog prints, the last of the snow melt. The woods is exhausted by winter, dead vines draped over broken limbs and bare trunks, like some old woman dressed in layers of capes. I can't really get lost, though I don't know the trails, since I can see the roads through the naked trees.
Nature never fails me, even when it's not the most verdant example or when I am most hungry to "get out." I still had a few minutes of real silence, and that towhee's song and the crunch of pine needles. It's a haven in the middle of development sprawl. Just since I was last there four or five years ago tracts of mushroom houses have multiplied. Mock mansions all alike, horrible toadstool houses poking out of the hillsides- all those people paying top dollar to be nowhere.
Anyway, a day outside is a gift, and I am grateful that I have it and have mobility, both physical and automotive. And I'm glad these acres have been set aside for people like me.
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