Winter's tale

On the quilted meadow
from which a thick white coverlet
was lately drawn away
unmade by a sudden April sun
subnivean schemes now lie exposed.
Voles' corridors embroider the hillside.
Scant chambers huddle
among brittle goldenrod stems,
blades of dried grasses
barely sheltering the naked revelation
of winter spent carefully under snow,
muffled, small lives inaudible
but to owls flying silently
with barely a breath of wing
and ears tuned to a hidden scuttle
plunging, snatching squirming sustenance
from pure folds of frost.
The map of cold drama now opens
the tale of hope and despair
intense labour
long weeks of tremulous waiting
now given over
to a bare audacity of vernal panic.

Sex or nature?

A fabulous spring day yesterday. Sylvie (that's her pic) and I hiked from my place to the University of Guelph Arboretum and joined a spring nature walk. We ambled through the meadow and woods looking for signs of spring.

The naturalist interpreter, Laura, was a pretty, strapping young woman, friendly to both of us. But her particular interest in Sylvie intrigued me. Unfortunately it intrigued me more than Sylvie.

She discussed signs of spring. She showed us the microtine paths in the meadow which inspired the poem in my previous post.

We walked as far as Stone Road then crossed into the nature reserve, not normally open to the public. In the marsh we heard a wet, amphibious chorus: spring peepers, American toads and wood frogs all singing in their different ranges. We scanned the edge of the water for masses of salamander eggs but found nothing.

I felt exhausted by the time we got home, but not sore. It was my first long walk, probably five kilometres, since September, before my medical ordeal began. This morning I woke with a cramped muscle in my thigh.

I can't think of any way I would rather spend an April afternoon. Did I say that? Is nature really better than sex? I guess it depends on how good the weather is, and how good the sex. Of course combining the two would be even better. If you feel the same way, bears, I'd be pleased to hear from you. My libido is at a low ebb. I wouldn't mind setting a fire in that field at night.

Sylvie and I plan to join the nature walk again next Sunday, weather permitting.

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At right is my most recent picture. Please forgive the neon shorts. It's the only pair that fits comfortably over my bandage. For the past six months I have practically lived in a single pair of overalls, which are much more sexy, but too hot for these nice spring afternoons.