I wonder, at times like now, how does anyone survive without the quiet? Without the beautiful and crisp morning air and the sounds of the wolves, howling, the owls, hooting.
In the early mornings when the ground is frozen again and the ice crunches under my boots, I can ignore the ugly brown of the frozen mud, and simply absorb the sunlight overtaking the dark.
The river ice is still cracking and booming, although not as much as it becomes pithy and the ice falls into the channels below as they burst their iced lids more each day.
Pussy Willows here and there have begun announcing that it is that time. The birds have returned and their songs fill the mornings.
Next month the babies of the year will begin appearing and the tiny crocuses will show their heads by Mother’s Day. The daylight already is all we see as the sun doesn’t set until after we sleep and the dark is long gone before we wake.
The range horses with their shaggy Springtime coats come running through the yard, tails straight up, hooves pounding , racing and playing their horsey games in the warm sunlight.
After two weeks of traveling, towns and people, I am content to be home. The hurry of the clock, the pressure of what or where to be, fades.
And soon? Soon our Adventures will be full swing.