The birds signal to each other, their voices echoing, nodding to each other in a language only they understand. They all seem like Jonathon Livingston Seagull; adventurous and willing to explore new territory, diving and gliding over the trees.
Mt. Washington, in the distance, stands in clear view through the gaps in the trees. The mountain, rising 6,288 feet above the earth, has patches of ice on its ridges and treetops that cover most of one side. The sun glistens on the tower at the summit.
To me, the mountain is a place of worship, but to others a physical challenge or a geographical feature. For me, reaching the top is not important. It’s the steps taken along the way and the moments of fatigue, when I think I cannot go any further, that make the quest worthwhile. At the summit, I observe the reward. Henry David Thoreau recognized this beauty when he said, “On tops of mountains, as everywhere to hopeful souls, it is always morning” (Lewis, ”Thoreau: Quotes”).
Today is spring; however, some large mounds of snow still linger as if to say winter is not ready to leave just yet. A chipmunk scampers to gather its prey: a small pinecone, a big prize for this tiny creature. Off in the distance, a storm brews – darkening clouds fill the horizon and grow nearer each minute as the sun slowly fades.
Sitting a short distance away, waiting, contemplating its next move, is a dog. Out of nowhere, two pale brown deer come sprinting toward us. The first deer stops abruptly upon spotting the dog. The second deer heard or saw me and plowed right into his companion. Rear end collisions don’t always happen on city streets. The dog bolts off after them, and the deer leaps gracefully and effortlessly away from the dog. A mismatch in power and speed allows the deer to live and run another day.
Light liners longer in spring, allowing the sun to remain high and life to remain in hidden treasures.
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