An afternoon alone. Children at school, husband at work. The early spring sunshine lights up the woods across from our apartment. From the fourth floor, looking down and across, the trees appear to be dusted with a pale green fuzz. I don boots and jacket and follow the call to get closer.
I walk along a stream, the ground squishy with decomposed leaves. Wild primroses yellow, white, pink–small and delicate, barely noticeable in the leaf debris. Zig-zagging my steps, the squelching mud splashes inside my boots. The stream, clear and cold, ticks along, changing its voice as it meets rocks and fallen branches. No sounds except the stream, the snap of twigs, the cheep, cheep of an unseen bird.
nor day dreaming;
just an empty vessel
ready to fill
LYNX winter 2014