Frozen Water

 

I found a little stream in my woods on an icy morning. 

Behind it was a frozen expanse of water, in some places clear like a window to what lay beneath

its depths, other places opaque white, keeping its mysteries from wondering eyes.

The temperatures are warming and cooling here, but not enough to be fully Spring yet.

The ice was clearly not safe to step foot on and where the water was moving

great holes had worn their way through the ice.

I am reading Spring by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

"One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should have

leisure and opportunity to see the Spring come in. The ice in the pond

at length begins to be honeycombed, and I can

set my heel in it as I walk."

I am very eagerly awaiting the first signs of Spring's coming.

I have found its earliest announcement in that:

the geese are making their way North,

buds are forming on barren tree tips,

mosses are brightening,

tiny leaflets are greening under the leaf litter,

our wild bunny is leaving its winter fur

in tufts about the yard.