The first leaves of the Aspen are emerging across river, a soft spray of bright green on what for so much of the year appears as a subtle black and white and grey landscape drawing. On pasture, now a vibrant pool of new grass, the marsh marigold smile up with their shiny white faces. This morning, the sky is a gentle wash of pink, and the mountain appears softer, lighter, more gentle before the harsh light of direct sun spreads across the meadow before me. I hear a goose, perhaps just one, maybe two, out there somewhere, quite concerned. I wonder if they are nesting nearby and squawking to protect their young. So many questions left unanswered sitting here safe and warm and uneffected in my cabin. The horses are not at their place along the fence asking for breakfast, and I become anxious to slip on my boots and go feed, go check. I notice each thing out of place, everything just a little different, and I am reminded of how much we can know, how much we can learn, and how very far we will always still have to go.
Posted by: highmountainmuse | May 18, 2009
A little morning muse