Apr 17 2009
The Fever Strikes
Even though I had the house all closed up yesterday morning, I could hear a cardinal singing loud and clear from its treetop perch. I didn’t dare look out the window because I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the blue sky. I was hellbent upon getting various literary tasks done before noon, but it seemed rather foolish to write about the natural world while it was springing back to life just beyond my walls. What would Thoreau do? Eventually, I stuffed a compass in my pocket, slipped on my hike boots, and headed for the hills. No doubt my dog, Matika, wondered why it had taken me so long to do so.
After watching a big old turkey crossing the road, I stepped into the woods. I needed to hear the high-pitched symphony of spring peepers and had in mind a beaver pond where I was sure to find them. Just before leaving the last semblance of a trail, I spotted coltsfoot in full bloom – not all that unusual in mid-April. But the spring beauty that I found a few minutes later took me completely by surprise. A week early, at least. I dropped down to my knees and snorted the flower as a drug fiend snorts cocaine. The result was just as narcotic.
I flushed two deer from a streambed while bushwhacking through some brambles. Matika immediately chased after them but turned around when I called her back. Good dog (sort of). We hopped over the stream and continued deeper into the woods, skirting the beaver pond. Its shimmering waters were clearly visible through the naked trees, but I wanted to reach a favorite spot on the pond’s opposite shore. That would take some doing.
My passage through the forest wasn’t very direct. I traveled from one patch of green to another, looking for more signs of the season. I found a few mottled trout lily leaves springing forth, then stumbled into some fresh leeks. I chewed a leek just for the sharp sting of it to my palette. Matika sniffed the tracks of animals that had passed this way recently. We reached the far side of the pond sooner than expected.
A Canada goose honked as we approached the pond’s marshy shoreline. There I sat on a fallen tree, with Matika resting by my side, long enough for the peepers to resume their trilling. They had fallen silent during our approach but started up again once we were quiet and still. The goose floated closer, honking continuously as if to evict us. She eventually got her way. Matika and I moved away after the peeper chorus had sufficiently scrambled my brains.
A few wood frogs croaked from an ephemeral pool that we passed on the way out. They stopped as soon as I went over to inspect their haunt. I searched for more wildflowers in bloom but found none. No matter. An unblinking sun burned high in the sky and all I could think was this: How lucky I am to be alive on such a beautiful day. I drove home slowly, very slowly, irritating the other drivers on the road who had places to go and things to do. Too bad I couldn’t have walked home. I really shouldn’t have been behind the steering wheel of a car in my condition.
One response so far
One Response to “The Fever Strikes”
“How lucky I am to be alive on such a beautiful day. I drove home slowly, very slowly, irritating the other drivers on the road who had places to go and things to do. Too bad I couldn’t have walked home. I really shouldn’t have been behind the steering wheel of a car in my condition.”
I identify completely. You, so often, express what I feel! THANKS!