What Happens Next?

On March 4^th I figured that I clicked into my skis for the last time. The late crust snowpack receded like an ocean wave off the strand into the heat of false spring.  I stayed in the shadowed corners of the meadows, brown straws of last season’s grass protruding through in a widening stubble.  On the final climbs of some south facing slopes, I high kneed over large patches of brown duff to reach the northside descent. 

Then full daytime sun cooked into the sixties.  Snow fog hung over the ice patches until they all disappeared. Skunks started to spray, porcupines lumbered, and I pulled a tick off the dog. The yellow spears of daffodil foliage pierced the hillside waiting for enough sun to turn them green, snowdrops crested the hill, and I began the crocus hunt. 

The clocks sprang forward and the sunset walks started after dinner and lingered past eight o’clock.  My nose tested the air for wild onion. I shagged a bucket of golf balls in the front yard in a stiff breeze, dreaming of summer obsessions. 

But seasons, especially springtime in Michigan, are rarely straight forward. Fits. Starts. Stops. Backtracks. Blizzards. 

This winter produced good cross-country skiing despite entire snowpacks arriving and disappearing a total of four times this season.  The most likely final snowstorm (but who knows) hit us before the Ides of March on past St. Patrick’s Day and today I was lucky enough to enjoy one more of those great ski treks.

A fresh cold inch filled yesterday’s sticky tracks where the warm ground melted things from below. But the new snow and nighttime teens made today a smooth ride from start to finish. I hit every trail of the year. Each gliding stride sparked joy. All the legacy trails now connect with seven new trails cut since September, the two newest cut just this March. 



I felt the accomplishment of “having built” Ridges – Hike & Ski Tours accompanied with wonder, envisioning more to come. I count my fortune to experience so many days amid the trees I love like an irrational number, each one a unique experience without the possibility of replication. When I meld what is old with what is new there sounds an alarm in my soul that wakes me every day, excited to see, shape, feel what happens next… 

This writing was accepted for publication by the Journal of Radical Wonder. 

Available here <https://www.thejournalofradicalwonder.com/monthly-challenge>.

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