fetch me a switch
Grey day. Spots of sun here and there. After work Lisa and I took off for the creek. On the way we spotted a few Western Meadowlarks. They were singing up a storm. A couple even stayed still while I fumbled with the camera. Their song is one of the beautiful things of spring, that, I could not live without. Lisa even asks for the window to be rolled down so we can listen for them as we travel the fields in the valley bottom.
Once in the mountains the snow is hanging on, but melting. Time didn’t allow us to travel high. We opted for walking the muddy roads, looking for signs of spring.
I spied a few pussy willows over the side towards the creek. They are not the first of the year. Those are in the valley bottom. These are in the mountain and seem less likely to lie about the arrival of spring. I’ve found pussy willows in February, beside the Columbia, and had my hopes peaked only to be hit by hundred more snowstorms. But the willows up Windermere creek never lie. It’s all melt from here.
The best pussy willows were across a small frozen pond. More like a big puddle. I tested the ice and lightly and carefully felt my way across the frozen surface. After cutting a few branches for Lisa I had a spring in my step. I forgot about the thawing ice and broke through damn near the middle. I pulled my wet boot out and broke through again! And then again! By the time I reached firm ground I was wet up to my knee and I’d pulled a muscle in my ass!
Luckily, Lisa didn’t see. When she saw the bouquet of red willows and my wet pant legs she said, they were so beautiful (not my legs), I should have cut more. I did just that, only limping this time in a wide circle around the thin ice.
Did I say, grey day? I meant great day.