March 12, 2009 6:45

 

I lost track of time this afternoon, only remembering my daily meditation as the sun threatened to dip below the horizon.  I sat on a couch of grass, planted in the yard last summer, and considered the promise of spring to come.  A constant breeze gives me a chill; it is cold enough to need a good hat. Already much of the snow has melted, but creating indiscernible patterns that make me wonder why it has melted from beneath one tree, but not another?  Where I sit, the grass is fully revealed as a dirty, gray shag carpet. Individual blades reveal a mixture of black, brown, yellow and pale green.  Green!  There is hope that this moment of gray bleakness will move on, like the snow that blanketed this couch all through the long winter sleep. 

 

I find myself drawn to the phragmites, rustling in the wind, seemingly agitating for spring as well.  Wisps of clouds move quickly. A chime at the house reminds me to light the woodstove.