Dear friend,
On mornings as golden as this one, it’s easy to forget what has befallen our world. My god, the birds were a symphony in the forest as we walked through trees now green with young leaves! The Swift River sang a chorus of rushing life heaped upon life, leaping and racing down from the mountains to our valley before heading home to the sea.
We saw a young fox, but only after she saw us. Samwise and Emily were wonderful in staying with me for any wild movement is an invitation for Emily to dance, and Samwise to give chase.
Fading are my winter memories. Gone are the morning gloves, worn as recently as a few days ago. Gone are the hiking pants, knit hats, and even the lightest jacket stays behind. I walked lightly through the column of trees with the lightest clothing, and even lighter spirits. The trails smell of summer now—that earthen mixture of warmth and cool swirling together with pine and decay. (That, and of bug spray.)
Black fly season has begun, and the mosquitos are…
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