I had a chance to walk 4 miles along McCormick Road this afternoon. I let Mary Oliver’s questions in her poem “Gratitude” guide my observations.
What did you notice? The joy of legs walking; the smell of tiny points of snow tossed in the air.
What did you hear? The calling of barred owls and red-headed woodpeckers to their mates; the crackle of leaf litter as camouflaged oven birds rustle up some grub.
What did you admire? The sharp-shinned hawk flying to its prey; the fisherman unhooking and letting his catch slip away in a silver splash.
What amazed you? The deep sharp shock of sound as a great tree is felled by a chain saw a half mile away.
What was most tender? The skeletons: parallel arcs of deer ribs on the ground; twisted remains of a fallen tree half submerged in the chilling water: bare, bleached limbs of sycamores tracing lines in the woods.
What was most wonderful? The vividness of a spot of dandelion, the wing of blue bird, the scarlet perched cardinal, the rising green folds of swamp cabbage in garish contrast to the dull gray remains of winter on a sunless day.
What would you like to see again? The great blue heron watching me approach on the opposite creek bank, lifting its body into the air, revealing its indigo underwings, trailing long legs and with a slow easy turn coasting away to a darker, more private spot to wait for fish.
What did you think was happening? In spite of winter’s attempt to retain its hold, the life thrust springs rises anyway–the eating, the migrating , the making, the mating, the growing splash of colors to entice the insects when they dare to emerge.
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