95 days, more, less, give, take...
This time of year, optimism peaks as our minds turn to the season ahead. We wonder....
Will our hips and knees and eyes once again serve us faithfully (and if so, for how many seasons longer?)?
Will the eager stick--so seasoned over many seasons--serve us for yet another?
Will the peace of wild things fill and renew the spirit and uplift the soul?
Will we trip and fall and perish in a place seldom seen to become carrion for the denizens of the deep woods?
Will our bleached bones found in another time and our story be then concluded?
Like the snow, thoughts drift, as do eyes...
Then, to cast one's gaze upon the world beyond the glass, the path of wondering leads to the woods.
The woods in winter. Cold, stark, silence cloaked in white yet yearning to burst free. An ageless contest, seasonal struggle grips this moment. Alas the victor, once awakened, is never in denial.
The awakening of the woods is assured. Our fate in the season is always in doubt. Optimism is tempered.
Good luck, all!