Misty Ridge Musings

I step out into a symphony of scents, of light, of birdsong.
Winter is vanquished.
We, the denizens of the North,
Emerging from our winter blanket of snow,
Of silence,
Of … (why is there no single word for a silence of scent?),
Into a cacophony of awakening.
All senses called forth!
The blankness of Winter no more.
From the blanket of white,
the ground in all its verdant palette glows.
Silence burst by birds seeking mates.
The silence of scent erased by waves of wet earth—
Life and death mingled into one pregnant perfume.
A surreal spring has dawned.