The snow melted into big rivers today, shrinking and sinking the drifts in the draws and creating a glorious slop of mud along our prairie trails and I’m hoping we’ve seen the last of the white stuff for the season.
History has taught me better though.
But we’re honing in on another spring season and I’ll take the warm up where I can get it.
I take to the hilltops like I do every year to check out the thaw.
In my other life the only thing that indicated the passage of another winter was a collection of fresh gray strands in my hair and new lines on my face.
These days it’s chronicled by my shadow…
It’s my honor to carry this child across this prairie and through the quick tick of the clock, sun up and sun down, spring, summer, fall, winter and then again and again until she can climb these hills herself, without my hand to hold, and find for herself a dry place to lay in the sun the same way my dad taught me to do on the first warm day of spring.
I hope this place is forever her refuge.
The shadow knows many things. They are reflections, in black and white, of what we know. JS