3.11.15 Perhaps it was because the light cut across the land in that inimitable way

     Somehow when wakening this morning, turning and looking out the windows, the light had shifted, and the season changed again.

    It wasn’t just that the sky was no longer in it’s heavy grey overcast mode.

     Nor was it that there was an absence of snowflakes thickening the air.

     It wasn’t necessarily because the air was much warmer, nor that, all night long, the land had been cold and the air warm, so mist swirled down ravines and across thawing meadows, along to the river below.

     Perhaps it was because the light cut across the land in that inimitable way that spring begins to flow into all things.

     The light that entered our bedroom windows early in the morning, and awakened our pineal glands, signaling a change in sight.

     That light is calling out to the Maples and the Pine, the weasels and the coywolves, the hawks and the humans and the worms, as the maple run begins, buckets slung along the aged town trees.

     The river remembers it’s times without snow and ice blanketing, and the proximity of the sun summons all thing to begin their time of growth.