The day began in rain and will end in sun, but the wind remains constant.
That is typical for this season at Red Willow, of course: The most salient marker of spring here is not temperature change or weather, but wind. It’s true all over this region, particularly to points south and east, where the spring winds are neither trickster nor mere force of nature but more in the nature of a driving disaster, relentless and unforgiving of anything in its way. But even at this altitude, the winds of spring are agents of caprice and catastrophe, as capable of wanton destruction one moment as of life itself, delivering a mix of rain and pollen that turns the whole world green.
And green it is here now, that pale shade that the old Crayola Big Box called, aptly enough, “spring green.” Only a few of the trees on our land remain without at least the smallest leaves — aspens, notably, which in our small corner are late to bloom and late to drop, as well. Late to drop in most years, that is; last year changed everything, when the drought turned deadly. Leaves began to change color as early as the last week of June, when normally they are only just coming into full emerald flower; by August, one of the aspens was as bare as in December, and we are still watching it closely to see whether it will manage to revive itself this year. At the moment, it still looks remarkably bare and bleak.
The willows, though, are leafing out apace. Last night, in the waning light of a rainy sunset, the red willows showed their first fragile leaves to the world. The globe and weeping willows have been green for some days now, the latter’s supple branches already bent double, heavy with pollen and sweeping along the ground.
Bent double, that is, when the wind is not sending them horizontal. It’s a testament to their flexibility, this season: A few of the smaller branches always wind up on the ground, but even gale-force winds capable of ripping off the stable roof and sending splintered support beams flying cannot force the willows to break.
It’s an example for us in a season when life’s storms threaten to bend us double: to stand, but flexibly, not rigidly; to know when to give in to more powerful forces, to bend just enough to be able to stand upright once again. It’s a hard lesson, one we humans seem to need to relearn every year, every season . . . but in this place, at this time of year, it is one the spirits demand that we heed.
These days are not spent entirely at the catastrophic whims of elemental forces, however. There are moments of calm, occasionally — rarely — whole days of it. And amid the profusion of new green from trees and grass, other creatures are rejoicing in the early warmth and longer light.
The wild creatures recognize the welcome in these warmer winds; the birds, migratory and otherwise, are active now. Our local pair of ducks has apparently been hovering, waiting for the pond to fill; they arrived with the water, only inches covering the bed. The magpies and ravens are busy gathering nesting material, although some of their kind seem already to have completed the task, busy nurturing eggs and fending off predators. Coyote has not been much in evidence, but the raptors have been on the hunt here for some weeks now; the sun has long since summoned the prairie dogs from hibernation, and they and the larger creatures have begun their annual dance to keep the habitat in balance.
And speaking of dogs, our own have been luxuriating in the warmth and wind and light, too. It’s possible for them to be out at all hours with no fear of the cold, and even the driest mornings dawn amid a profusion of dew, perfect for rolling the grass and cleaning their coats. The winds seem to give them energy, as though igniting that small spark of the wolf deep within their spirits, sending them on the hunt, but also inspiring long hours of joyous play.
Wings captured the image immediately above just shy of five years ago: She-Wolf and Raven romping alongside us as we walked, buffeted by the spring winds, yet also safe in the embrace of blade and branch. They were some six and a half years old then, full of a wild and joyful energy, still more puppies than not.
She-Wolf is gone now, one year and three days ago, to be exact; cancer, an aggressive and fast-moving one. Her brother Raven has it now, and has only days left himself, perhaps only hours, but for the moment, he is lying at my feet in front of the woodstove, breathing deeply in his sleep. We know that his spirit will join hers soon, his body, like hers, given up to the embrace of the grassy earth in a more fundamental way. But for this moment, he is with us, and as he was on that day five years ago, happy.
There is peace to be found in a closeness with the earth, a serenity that accompanies the knowledge that it welcomes us daily, irrespective of weather or wind or circumstance. And as the dogs have always known, in its embrace there is also great joy.
~ Aji
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