Wednesday, February 25, 2009
This morning the sun rose in a mist of contrails where last night only a few wild geese strayed across blank blue. Twenty-three I think I counted before the clouds, confused by water vapors not their own began to merge and fold the eastern sky in on itself. Maples in filigree black against the frosted hour tipped themselves in rising sunshine and beckoned me to observe silence. To watch as no motor pulled morning into the sky. To see the way nature quietly grew, slowly grew from bare branches to budding branches. Soundlessly life stirred. The pussy willows arched and stretched budding out their soft paws. The witch hazel uncurled yellow streamers of flower on leafless branches. Sunshine greeting yellow rays. And the day began.