Missouri in Spring.
My absolute favorite season, narrowly beating fall because I just love when all the green things pop out of the piles of brown dead things. As I kid I always drew tulips and spring flowers on everything. I like rainy days (although this week, the rain has made me rather melancholy--with my trip being canceled and all the uncertainty in the world.) I woke up one morning and decided to go for a walk. Down the road from my house, lies a small trail. It isn't very long, maybe a quarter of a mile into the woods. Reminds me a lot of the woods I grew up playing in behind my house. It doesn't really go anywhere, just to an access point for the utility company and then it dead ends in an area that is probably a flood plain. As I walked along the mossy path, two white-tailed deer were frozen, unblinking ahead of me. I stopped to watch them, inching closer until finally, they sprang off, their white tails bobbing and their legs springing through the leaves. Once I passed them, they criss-crossed the path and I looked back to see them behind me, watching me walk alone through the woods. Whenever I walk through the woods, I think of Mary Oliver and I thought this poem was perfect for the occasion: How I go to the woods Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.” ― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems
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Mrs. Mitchell
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