Spring has sprung, and there are new things all over the place around here. Last Wednesday, Tilly and I went for a walk at one of our local spots. It's not a huge wilderness; in fact, it's what I might call an urban wilderness, if I lived in the urbs. But I live in the 'burbs, and maybe I should therefore call it a 'burban wilderness?
But most importantly, it changes with the changing of the seasons. And I can get my feet on the dirt, and see those little intimate changes that mean that the year is turning.
The Wild Places, one of the most beautiful books I've ever read (and I say that as a person who doesn't like beautiful books just because the writer can turn a phrase; they also need to say something). Macfarlane goes looking for the untouched places of Britain, only to find that the most remote places he can get to show the unmistakable marks of the millenia of human habitation of that small island (which in itself I find awesome - in the original meaning of the word); but instead of despairing of ever finding his wild places, he instead describes in loving terms that feeling of deep connection that comes from having one's own small place to be in, season in and season out, as the years turn, whether it's a backcountry preserve, or something like my small 'burban wilderness.
And sometimes they come back brand-new. Like this little fragile thing - long may she endure.
a blanket (which is really a much prettier dusty rose color than it looks here, I promise):
I'm a day or so early, but I guess this is all by way of saying, Happy Equinox, everyone - spring is here at last.