I was being too optimistic.
Meteorological spring began on the first. Something about the air felt warmer, maybe not but still, the breeze felt like warmth promised.
I headed to the back end of the Parkway, across from the fish hatchery.
I scanned creek side, trying to see any sign of new life.
Found nothing.
Walking up into the woods, the path was lost to the old snow of our long winter.
I gave up on the top of the hill, looking at the creek. It was just too early; I needed to wait a couple more weeks.
To my left, on the side of the path, there on the monochromatic forest floor was a tuft of green. My observation had been wrong. Wild onion grass, I broke a blade and felt life run onto my hand. I could smell the pungent aroma.
Like buying a red car and suddenly noticing an increase in other red cars on the road, the onion was everywhere.
The wind was still cold. Had it not been for the sun, I would have felt much more like winter, still cold. Onion grass is my harbinger. S.O.S spring, I’ll be keeping an eye out for you. For now, the forest is silent. Footsteps are thunder between tree trunks, and all of it, the journey of winter, all of it, alone.
