Off we
tromped, through the early spring woods, and then down to the ridge overlooking
the outwaters of the Connecticut.
Rife with creatures and peepers and ducks and
geese; the turtles I know have awakened from their winter's rest in the deep
dark mud.
Imagine waking slowly, as the earth about you softens and warms.
As the
water above you thaws and the sounds begin to nestle up to you, from other
living things stirring. Imagine stretching your turtle neck and limbs, your
organs within beginning to move and function.
As you tunnel up out of your
winter's nest, swim up through the delicious clean spring waters, and take your
breath of fresh spring air? Spot a fallen limb, and swim over to climb up upon
the rough bark, and sun yourself deliciously in the warm spring sunlight?
I can, and as I sit far above on
the ridge, looking down as the reflection of clouds passes through the waters
below, I imagine all the wild things living here all winter, as torpid chipmunk
or surviving coyote.
All the
wild ones who slept slowly coming awake, looking about, and setting out for a
few tender sprouts or insects upon the high limbs or small fish in the waters
below.
I sit up there, watching as
the sun slowly sets and the Shepherd races about and all of the forest begins
to sing its springtime song.
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