Sense The Air [on DR Thursday]

In the summer, it is a place of frogs and turtles perched on rocks, drinking in the sun. We stop and watch until the wary turtles slip into the murky water, the frogs halt their croak-symphony. Respectfully, we move on. Behind us, the symphony resumes.

In winter, it is a different scene. Sienna and ochre rather than a million shades of green. Silent, the musicians are on hiatus. The turtles sleep, having disappeared beneath the earth some months ago. They will return in several weeks without fanfare. Without formal announcement we will spy them on a log. Kerri always marks the first sighting in her calendar. “Turtles!” Some winter days we cross the long bridge and look into the river at their usual spot. We know it is too soon but such is the way with hope.

I’m getting a taste of the life my grandfather lived. One place. He lived in one town his whole life. My dad’s dad. I was with him one bright sunny day in the park when he stopped, sensed the air, and said, “We’d better get in. A storm is coming.” I thought he’d lost his mind. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The clouds rolled in. Thirty minutes later, safe inside, we watched the heavens open and dump buckets of rain. Somedays on this trail we love, I sense the air. I know what’s coming. Having lived so many places, until now, I never understood the power of place, the relationship with the reeds, yearning for the symphony, knowing in my bones that the sun is not quite right for the turtle’s return.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MARSH

Feel The Rain, 24x24IN, mixed media

feel the rain © 2020 david robinson

One Response

  1. […] read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY […]

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