When the early seasonal rains arrive, there's a rare window of opportunity in the woods, for those souls who rejoice in all its moods. The steady patter on the short new growth, the smell of Winter's death, the beautiful mix of greens and browns, the enchanted forest stirring from her long winter's sleep.
The thorough cleansing has begun, Wintergreen steadfast through winter begins to grow yet again, the Partridgeberry creeps along the debris floor, Moss swells up with its soft beauty; subtle motion is taking over the realm.
The wanderer of such a landscape is routinely rewarded with witnessing the quick grace of Deer, or the silent crouched shuffle of Turkey. Streams and rivers are loud and clean, shedding their Winter's stock.
Yes indeed, this is a special time amongst the transitions; a time of Water, serene sound, green carpets, soft footing, and pure love.