THESE LAST MOODY DAYS OF FEBRUARY
There’s a detectable inner vibration, this morning, from all things buried beneath this failing mantle of old snow. It’s the unmistakable rumbling, in the dark earth, from all the life-forms anxious for that seasonal drip-down, of melt water, to set them free. A warm February, we are lulled into that false security of expecting winter, to be over quite hastily, before its rightful, God-given time, you might say,....and resolved for yet another emergence from hibernation and stalemate. This is a mistake, of course, as these myriad ferns and wildflowers, mushrooms and insects, have been tricked into the same complacency as us weak-willed mortals, such that they would willingly expose themselves, at the first opportunity of spring light, and then be dashed in cycle by the next wave of Muskoka winter. Legendary for being quite unpredictable and harsh. Still having this sense that spring is stirring, not only in the atmosphere but beneath my feet, is indeed a welcome respite if nothing else.
The warm temperatures have caused a considerable melt and any new snow that falls in the overnight period, has diminished by the early afternoon. Those pensive mortals, who despise the winter months, can be seen more regularly now, poking heads out their neatly appointed shelters, to see if they’ve outlasted inclement weather. Like the early buds and reckless ferns that poke through the winterscape early, a change of weather within hours, can bury this place in ice and snow for much of the next month. The ice on the lakes can last out the entire month of April, if it has been a particularly cold season with less snow. I too can get gently cradled by thoughts of an early spring but I might walk out here tomorrow morning and find the trail drifted over by a sudden flurry of snowfall.......and then be burdened by the wickedness that is a Canadian winter.
Without doubt, it is this temptation of early spring that inspires the imagination toward parallel recklessness,...... to bud, blossom forth, set ourselves free to wander, regardless of the setbacks that might now be spiraling undetected in a bitter west wind, building over the expansive Great Lakes. The voyeur, at this moment, worries less about the future than the width and breadth of this present hiatus from the coldest, harshest days of oldtime winter. It is easy to daydream and that is my specialty after a long week of writing in a stuffy office, in company of our cats that also can’t wait to be liberated from indoors. Ah, how wonderful to bask in a pool of sunlight, beating down on an exposed rock face, to make a lingering watcher, feel unfettered and alive.
The trickle of water down a pine trunk, is as pleasing as if a harpist played at my side. The warm, damp wind, has that nostalgic feel that reminds me of childhood, and the million soakers I got on the way, to and from school each day, as the spring and I collided pleasantly in adventure. My mother Merle used to be furious when I got home and left wet footprints on the freshly polished kitchen floor. Even if I wore boots, I could manage to slip into a pool a centimeter deeper than the height of my boots’ best intentions.
I know it’s wrong to unwisely attach spring-time values, to an old and lingering winter but it’s virtually impossible not to allow the spirit a little down time, puddling about and roaming this sunlit birch hollow, like the vapor of goodwill it is.......hoping only it will return when satisfied, to join with this tired old body...... tickled in fact, just to survive for our mutual enjoyment of one more beautiful spring.