HIGH COUNTRY ARCHER

Winter lays an icy grip upon the land. All the shadowed places are protecting drifts of snow that have fallen months ago. Along the forests edge there are leaves from the cottonwood and elm trees covering the ground. Each rust colored leaf was once a vibrant green that last summer waved in the warm summer breezes high in the now skeletal canopy. I wonder as I move silently through the forest if nature notices me. Does the forest notice the age around my eyes the ache in my bones or the loss of youthful exuberance I once possessed. Does the timeless seasonal change and constant shift in the wild places just move along without notice. The wind shifts suddenly and stirs the leaves at my feet. Underneath the dead leaves there is a small green blade of grass waiting patiently for the spring season to arrive. I smile to myself and feel something stir inside me. The small blade of grass reminds me that even among all the seemingly dead and decaying surroundings there is hope, there is life, there is purpose. I feel a quickened step a stirring of long ago memories from high lands and better times. I lay leaves back over the young shoot and resume my wanderings. Maybe with the spring rains and warmer weather I will return here and see how the grass has grown. Maybe nature will notice a change in me as I strive to return to the lands that make me feel alive and leave behind the decaying leaves of a far gone winter.