Springtime wonders

 I would stay all day in the woods when Spring came around, watching life come back from a winter's sleep, a bag of food—mostly scraps—which I'd place close enough to me, but far enough away so as not to scare the smallest of the woodland creatures. Time would pass. A squirrel would cautiously approach a piece of cheese, hold it with its little hands, and smell it first. Then—after a moment—he would sit on his hind legs and enjoy the treat. He must have been the captain, as he signaled his small army to join him. They constantly watched me sitting on a fallen tree as quietly as a mouse, maybe not losing the fear but realizing I meant them no harm. Shortly, a rabbit arrived and found some lettuce, which he ate as if he hadn't eaten in a long while. I maintained my silence and movements as other animals joined the picnic, feasting on gifts from the lone figure a short distance away.

The scraps were gone, and the animals disappeared back into the woods, some stopping long enough to turn to me as if giving thanks, as I bid them farewell until the next time. I returned to listening to and watching the sounds of springtime woods, from bubbling brooks to the cries of birth as the first babies of the woods were born. I breathed the air that smelled like moss and a musty scent that people would bottle, duplicating but never really getting it just right.

The woods are a large part of who I am, with all its splendor and wonder that I never grow tired of. It's a slow introduction to Summer when the woods are in full bloom, and the temperatures climb, choking out the cool breezes that once danced to the tune of a now-passing spring. The bulbs planted in the fall bloom into colorful tulips wrapped in wildflowers and given to your sweetheart. Peaceful times when fishing in the stream, not caring whether you catch anything or not, because your heart is at peace in the silence of the moment, and Mother Nature welcomes you to a part of her, now very much a part of you.

Mike 2026