I’m waking up to the babble of madly singing goldfinches from the deep bottom of a Peruvian hammock, swinging between two post oaks in Norman, Oklahoma. An oblong slice of blue sky and fresh oak leaves is all that’s visible from down here in the well of woven fabric: those oak leaves are bigger than mouse ears but still in the salad-green-tender stage. All I feel right now is gratitude for a warm moment of peace and a little clarity. Nothing restores the head like a long nap under the spring sun.
The prairie is returning to life and the chickens are booming again in Woodward. The sharp joy of hearing the chuck-will’s widow calling in the dusk yesterday evening, the yellow-billed cuckoo sounding off in the woods behind us this afternoon, the sawtooth song of the blue grosbeak right at this very moment- those sounds are precious in this time of not-normal. That’s what spring is for- to tune up nature’s music, to heal winter’s scars, and renew a sense of purpose and connection with the land.
“Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.”- Rachel Carson