Weary

Today the sounds dominated my interest once again … this time because everything sounded fatigued. The blowing trees creaked like faulty old barn doors. With a voice so raspy, the red tailed hawk’s call sounded like a cry for help. The stream water coughed as it flowed past me in search of a place to break free of its icy stockade. The wind rolled high above me, seemingly bored from the redundancy of it all.

Frozen footsteps
Frozen footsteps

This is the time that breeds authentic appreciation for spring. It is a time of patience and cracked skin, gratitude and depleted energy. The soles of my feet have not made direct contact with the earth for nearly five months; my shoulders not touched by the sun in six. Yet for all my weariness, I know that this will pass. And when it does, my imagination will hear the sounds with a new and refreshed ear. Soon.

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