Sitting here at the Preserve passing time because I left for tonight’s workshop too early.
The trees are considering the merits of budding verses the prospect of potential (and likely) frost.
Maples are the optimists of tree people. I’ve seen buds on maple trees as early as late February some years.
The canal is high now, so much rain in the last few weeks here and upstream- still icy cold though.
I think about the flow of water, winding and coiling through the land in places I can’t get to in my beloved Subaru. Rise and fall and gentle nod, making its stealthy way to places loft unseen. Ghost boats carrying people and requirements to and fro. I hear a song from childhood echoing through the recesses of my mind::
“Low bridge, everybody down!
Low bridge, for we’re coming to a town….”
I’m so glad I left early today.