I'm writing this in response to a friend, Tim Gels, who wrote a blog about how nature wins.
A week ago snow fell like a heavy blanket over Arkansas. We were buried and many of us hunkered down beneath that blanket because we had little choice. This was not a pristine blanket either, because while we may have not been able to venture far, life still went on.
Just as I filled my notebook with inked words and pictures, I could also see the evidence of life and play across the expanse of snow outside my window. The small pits made from stomping through the snow. The splashes of yellow indicating where I had finally convinced my dog to pee outside instead of on my carpet. The hints of staccato steps dotted near branches and porches -- birds hopping along as they sought the sprinkling of seeds left only for them.
Now it's in the 70s and the evidence of activity isn't as easy to see with the rapidly disappearing snow. But as I drove to school today I noticed the signs of winter clinging on all the same. The patch of snow slipped between the shade of trees. The silver sheen of ice along a pond where two geese are determined to cross the expanse all the same, even if they can't swim. The hints of bird song, source unseen.
I remember being so enamored last week when I took a walk through winter woods, but as the snow melts and I turn my attention to spring, I'm reminded that while I may have to look harder into the depths of nature to find evidence of life and play -- it's there all the same.