March 2, 2010 - My "sense" of place

March 2, 2010

Well, once again, I missed out on most of the snow at my spot. The ground is soft and squishy, with water pooling up around my shoes with every step. The snow that is left shows signs of squirrels, dogs, and humans, but not much else, anything smaller probably melted away. I need to spend a moment lamenting for the trees around me, many of which lost limbs to the heavy snows of last week. The boughs lay there, useless, broken, forgotten, and I offer them my respect. As I was walking to my spot today I stopped to feel the sunbeams filtering through the clouds onto my face, and I momentarily revel in the warmth. Sunny winter days, when the sun warms your body while the brisk air gently cools it, are some of my favorite days. I noticed on my walk today, that on my way to my stump there is a gorgeous view of Mount Mansfield that I had never been able to see before as a result of clouds. It’s stunning, and I wish I saw the mountains more often. Back to my spot, I have started with my silent, blind sitting, I listen. And listen. And listen. I don’t feel very patient today, but I know that sound is an important part of my place because of its location so I should be more focused. What I do hear is sirens, and two different birds. My problem with birds is that, unless I see them (with the exception of blue jays, chickadees, geese and a few others) I don’t have a clue what they are. I know one of them, the crow, by its grating “caw,” but there’s a small trilling chirp that I can’t quite place. Touch is more important to me today, as I pick up sprigs of white pine from the ground and feel the smoothness in one direction contrast with a resistance in the opposite. It’s interesting how something can be so smooth and yet so rough at the same time, and I am reminded of the sensation of a cat’s lick. I’m not daring enough to lick or taste anything in my spot, but I can attest to smell: I smell manure. The UVM farm must be spreading or moving crap because it has sneakily entered into my sanctuary and interrupted my observations as I begin to reminisce about my home. I never thought I would miss the smell of cows…