A Glorious Day

Every now and then a day comes along when no duty calls, and the weather leaves the world aglow with health and youthful vigor. I think today is such a day, and therefore feel compelled to write about it while a robin's-egg sky still holds like a roof over the world.

Had I told you yesterday what I'm about to say, I would forgive you any funny looks you might make, or doubts you might have. It snowed well near half of Friday, covering the area in maybe 2-2.5 inches of the white, wet stuff. By yesterday evening the temperatures did begin to rise, hinting at what was to come the following dawn, but all the same, it's hard to imagine even now the dramatic difference a day can sometimes make (let that be a thought if ever you're having an unglorious day).

At any rate, today has been glorious. Awash in sunshine and under a wide-open sky, I made the usual Saturday walk down to the forest with a pop in my step and smile on me face. Wilting snow, melting fast in the 55+ F, left the ground squishy and wet, a yielding turf that seemed to swallow everything from footfalls to feet. Among the trees wherever I passed a great chorus of birds sang their pastoral songs, perhaps celebrating the imminent return of fresh nuts and juicy worms; a fowlish version of Pitchers and Catchers, if you will.

In the forest, a sense of renewal seemed afoot. Here and there buds appeared on the branches of many trees, and pockets of little flowers, purple and yellow, waved lazily as I passed. Marks in the soil showed the comings and goings of many creatures; the hoofs of little deer here, the round pads of a dog's paw there, the claw-marks of foxes and squirrels, and most peculiar of all, the Sketchers' "S" amid a pattern of zig-zags and swirls. One gets the sense a viridian renaissance is near at hand.

Bugs and soccer players have returned to the grass fields near my old middle school. In the nearby lake which serves as a bathroom for both, the water today was so clear one could make out the bottom from end to end, a jungle of watery plants interrupted only by a rusting barrel, and a bench deposited there back when Moses was a footballer, or some such period long ago.

At the base of a fallen tree nearby I found my old stash of broken bottles from the local stream, undisturbed since the collection's founding in the Summer of 2011. A brace of Mallards eyed me warily as I inspected the cache. They seemed chill to let me pass, but no feathers were ruffled in the exchange.

Walking a mile and change up the hills from the lake I found myself home. As I write, long shadows stretch from the cars, trees, and fence-lines near the house. Tomorrow marks the start of daylight-savings time, our annual vernal ritual for extending everyone's day by waking them an hour early. Keeping to the present, however, I can't help but think it is and continues to be a glorious day. Hope it's been as much for you.