3/13/15 at 1pm
At the Stewart Park Promontory
- Temperature: 44 degrees
- Wind: 11-16 MPH
- Clouds: NO! Blue sky, sunny day!
Humans and Animals seen:
- People walking and driving by the lake
- A few old fellows with their binoculars
- Ducks on the water
- Gulls overhead
- Geese on the grass
I start by pulling off my outer-layer jacket. The sun is high and there is little wind, so I know I won’t need it. The park beckoned me
today. I didn't have to come, but this week offered a break in the harsh freezing temperatures. Everything was melting, and I needed to see how the Promontory was
changing.
I am blinded by white. Sunlight reflects off the crystals
and surrounds me, pierces me. If I cup my hands together around my eyes, like
binoculars, I can look through and see the world around me. Otherwise, I
squint, look down at the pathway, or close one eye.
A black dot weaves through the air in front of me. It takes
a second to register what it is. An insect! I haven’t seen one of these in
eons. My head is warming. I pull off my orange hat. My ears don’t freeze. Even
when the wind gusts up.
The small, west-side beach is still covered in snow, but
here and there a rock pokes up through the snow, a log juts out, a root is
revealed. On Fall Creek, right where the creek pushes into the Lake, there is
water. Not gaseous water—not clouds. Not solid water—not ice. But water, clear
and movable and splashable water in its liquid form. And, there are ducks on
it. Cavorting. Talking. Landing and taking off. They are just as excited as I
about the break in the solidity of Fall Creek.
I sit on a dry rock and take off my gloves and stuff them
into my fleece pants pockets. I didn't need these thick, black pants. I unwind the scarf from my neck and lay it on the snow-free log next to me.
There is a sycamore bending over the snowy beach. I've
noticed it before. Today I look closer. The trunk rises at a 45 degree angle
from the shore, its bark camouflages it against the snowy landscape. Some of
its seed pods dangle like ornaments from the empty branches that reach for the
blue sky. It’s ready. I can tell. There is a vibration humming under those
patches of tan and white and gray. The tree is still waiting, but less
patiently. It is time to awaken.
I unzip my fleece jacket, turn my face to the sun and close
my eyes. I sit like that for a while. Following my breath. I listen to the
gulls cry above, the splash of water birds, a barking dog, the drone of the
city as it winds through another March afternoon. I could spend all day here,
just sitting, soaking it in. It’s the first time in months I feel my body
uncoil, soften, and sink down closer to the earth. The slowly warming earth.
On the way back to the car, I peel off my fleece coat. I
know I’ll need it again before spring officially comes, but today I throw it
over my arm and let the sun and wind whip right through me.
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