Mud and Muted Miracles
I’ll be honest.
April is not my favorite month.
The snow is either gone
or too crunchy or punchy to play with.
The ground is still frozen
so garden prep can’t really happen.
It’s a time of in between
known here in the northland
as Mud Season.
Some years are more dramatic than others
but we experience mud ponds
(far too expansive to be named puddles).
‘Dog towels’ stand at the ready at each door.
Coat racks tip under the weight
of vast arrays of jackets
poised for use based on
the wide range of temperatures and conditions
that change as often as the wind blows.
The whole ‘April showers and May flowers’ thing?
That’s for later. Not early April. Not here.
Still, here we are in the ‘in between.’
A familiar feeling not nearly limited to weather.
That place of awaiting, anticipating, not-quite-here-yet.
The part you might hover over the fast forward button
if that were an option.
But it’s not an option
nor would I choose it, honestly.
Because there’s something in the less desirable times
that holds a flavor otherwise untasted.
It’s times like this that make you commit.
Are you going to tuck your head and just get through it?
Or will you look around for the hints of beauty?
Me? I do both, truly, depending on the day.
Because it’s work to be Wild.
To be so present that you notice
the subtle pussy willows swaying in the wind
that are so easy to miss.
Meanwhile, migrators are full on arriving.
Tuck your head, and some will have moved on
without your acknowledgement, your smile, your welcome.
Without the sweet reciprocity of Wild things.
Will I be glad when my hands and knees
are caked with dirt from the garden?
When my bare feet get to feel the ground?
Meanwhile, I will sometimes trudge, head down,
and miss the muted miracles that are right in front of me
due to nothing other than my longing for something else.
It’s a commitment to be Wild on world-weary colorless days.
To be Wildly Present to right now.
To let your breath be taken by what you almost missed.