An amphibic chorus has erupted from our slumbering wetland borders––Spring Peepers at night, and Chorus Frogs at day; their cold waterbeds a-tremble like mercury beneath the generous light of this high lunar cycle. Daffodils verge on early golden detonations, while our Yellow-bellied Sapsucker flashes between big trees, busy keeping springheads open for a share winter’s Elixir.
Barren as our forests may seem to the casual eye, there remains an uncanny and powerful sense of the unseen.
By day we scan our landscapes and cityscapes stepping along a horizontal axis somewhere between hope and fear. Step outside on a cold and clear winter night, and you can’t help but go vertical. Some of our elders spoke of these night lights as campfires, where beings of the stellar domain gather to tell their stories. If you if ever get close enough to listen in, that’s a story I’d love to hear.