Resilience

At the last second, I veer off the road, lured by the fog hovering over Blanco River. I take off on foot, totally unprepared with my flimsy sandals and bare toes. (These fleeting moments are almost always worth the effort.) I am convinced that stories lurk in the fog, and like many nature writers before me have experienced, wandering often leads to discovery.

Textures and shapes stand out against the muted background of a March morning. I think of Winter Storm Uri, an event that shocked us all last month with ice, snow, and freezing temperatures that lasted for many days. Since then, I have been holding my breath, waiting for the bluebonnets to emerge, watching the ruby-throated hummingbirds and enormous bumblebees search for nectar.

Following a watery trail, I end up at a nearby park, near the edges of Cypress Creek.  A hawk calls out from somewhere deep in the fog. Bird chatter ceases. When it resumes, I recognize chickadees, cardinals, a golden-fronted woodpecker, and two unfamiliar calls that remind me of kazoos. (I will have to return with my binoculars.) Pushing past leafless branches and Kneeling to get the best view, brilliant colors jump out from the leaf litter. Despite Uri's visit, some of  the first spring blooms have arrived - dewberry, ragwort, redbud, buckeye, Texas barberry, and prairie verbena. Soil, seeds, sunlight, and the soft morning mist - the beginning of it all. Soon the birds will gather to feast on the fruits, seeds, and insects. Resilience, persistence . . . what beautiful reminders.