It was a time of intense wonder in the north, after the long, harsh months when the heart is shut out from communion with the earth. Wild Geese by Martha Ostenso, 1925
It was sunny but cold, the promise of a spring day brought me out for a walk to the park. This park is where we take our granddaughters, when weather permits. It's been months now since our last visit but the girls have not forgotten. When they see the park, they mention it, wondering when we will go back.
It was encouraging to walk around the park that day, with so much to look forward to, children on the slides, swings, monkey bars, see saws, conversations on the benches and picnics.
Before long, the grounds will be cleared of the leaves and branches but despite the debris, it was beautiful. The maple trees, outlined against the blue sky, showed the promise of new growth.
While the dried leaves crunched under foot,
the soft moss muffled my footsteps. It was peaceful and still, as if the park was sleeping, about to rouse from a long snooze. It too was waiting!
The eye could not help but be drawn upward to the branches and their embrace of the deep blue sky.
The moment was memorable. Martha knew our northern home so well.