Misty Ridge Musings

A decrepit barn stands glowering, holding its dark secrets within its shambolic grasp, glaring across at its neighbors, a forsythia and shed singing in exuberant red:yellow dissonance against the stark white of our late spring snow.
I’m out on my first solitary walk in my new world, resolved that this will be a beginning. I stand quiet, listening, seeing, smelling. Birds gambol through the trees playing a game of “Marco” … “Polo”, finding dark corners to build their moss-lined nests.
A stream runs beneath my feet, crossing below the road, babbling on my right; gurgling in a mad dash downhill to my left.
A woodpecker beats out a sharp tattoo providing the syncopated beat for this spring symphony.