intimations

Intimations of spring, this morning - after a rainy night, the ground is mostly bare. Thirty-five degrees and chickadees and bluejays calling at the feeders. I saw a flock of robins by the roadside the other day, after seeing hundreds of them stretched across the whole university the day before. I read in my bird book about how robins winter often in the north "in flocks of thousands" - indeed. It's complicated, feeling spring coming - yes, joy, but also an uncomfortable flush - "am I up for this?" For all the energy and effort of it.

Our local rag says that Vermont by the year 2050 will have the climate of southern Georgia. So we are catching the last, the last of the creative cold before it vanishes from the face of the earth - just barely in time. This is one destiny, one sign, for me; I also must find a way to get my birthright from the Boy from the North Country himself. Time spent with robin's-egg-eyes helps, for sure, but there maybe be more to grasp, to attain, to help me on my way. Maybe coming in unexpected surprising ways. Must be open to that, and step into the way of opportunity. Perhaps I have some energy to do it. Even if it won't be perfect, even if it's a silly risk - it's time to step onto the tracks, jump on the train, ride the energy and effort of those blinds.