Bound to Be
Punxsutawney Phil fails to impress me. On my evening jog tonight, bound and muffled against the wind, I heard what could have been the faintest of honks. In hope, I frantically yanked off my hat, and, sure enough, stretched out nine-in-a-line, the first geese of the season determinedly flapped over my head, towing spring behind them.
Winter holds a lot of beauty, but at times, it seems a long, harsh season up on the hill. The geese disappeared into the smoky stretch of horizon, and while I jogged, I stared at the narrow strip of scarlet edging the trees and kept time to my footfalls with the muttered refrain of spring, spring, spring.
2 comments :
What a joy to see your pictures and post before heading out to serve the public! As I was viewing the beautiful photos Aaron Copeland's, Rodeo:Suite was playing in the background. Which brought together two of my favorites - the Owen Family and the music of a beloved composer. This IS a blessed day!
Much love!
So beautiful.
Post a Comment