April 9, 2010

We were late to the forest today, arriving at the place where afternoon and evening meld in slanting light. We followed the crowtalk, up past the windfalls and north, back down the spine trail. Past the hemlock snags and the Barred Owl nest tree. Crow voices nattering back and forth on each side of us, then coalescing just out of sight amongst the trees. We cut back into the forest on a side path, one of the unofficial trails. Walked quickly, wanting to see what the crows had found.

This path bends through a bower of osoberry and masses of evergreen huckleberry. Bill can trot through unencumbered, but I instinctively protect my face as I push away the branches, turn my head to look down and to the side. And see this year's Trillium blossoms at my feet, just past ripe, glowing pink in slanted light.

Now. Nothing matters but this light- not politics, not the silly misunderstandings left at work, not the unanswered emails and the uneasy family relationships. Not the unchanged oil in the car, the laundry waiting to be brought in, the odd smell in the refrigerator, the incipient threat of bindweed pushing up to strangle the garden.

There is enough time for one picture and the light is gone. Bill whines. I hear the crows again. An owl retreats overhead.

Photo copyright 2010, C. M. Alexander