Once more, with feeling

There are moments when a writer is allowed to be given to sentimentality.

I sit at my breakfast table and gaze out to the ravine that has been a part of our lives for 27 years. Funny how we take what initially amazed us for granted over time. The view confronting me can be a Christmas scene, big dense snow flakes falling, the balcony floor covered in white, the trees in our yard and the ravine bearing branches partially whitened with the fresh snow. A peaceful winter wonderland, or a return to it, as the old snow and ice have melted and all that were exposed for the last two weeks had been the bare brown branches on the trees, some not quite recovering from the terrible ice storm last December, and lots of broken twigs and brushwood on the lawn and slopes that go down to the stream below. If only the sun would come out and shine on this renewed pristine whiteness to make the picture perfect. Only, the timing is off: today is April 15^th.  A sadness pervades because this may well be the last time I see this view framed by the wide doorway to our first floor balcony. Michael and I are finally moving come September.

View of our backyard and ravine, April 15th, 2014

Our sons’ elementary school is visible across the ravine through the bare branches: thoughts go back to how, in the late fall and throughout the winter when all the leaves had fallen, I would strain my eyes to watch them arriving at the school’s backdoor, school bags, lunch boxes and all, some seven minutes after I kissed them goodbye at our own doorstep in the morning. It didn’t take them long to cut through the nature divide between our house and the school, making use of a footpath that slopes down to the ravine and up again to the back of the school.  On a clear day, during recess time, if I happened to be home, I might look for them in the playground, scanning the entire area for the bright jackets that would point them out to me. Sometimes I resorted to binoculars – no, I wasn’t spying – just interested in their activities!

And there was Vernon, our ever gentle beloved Vernon, rolling in the snow in our backyard, his creamy presence camouflaged by his surroundings, and when he had enough of the cooling sensation, shaking off the white stuff that made his beautiful fur wet.  A few times, as late as midnight, Michael and I had walked him in the ravine, treading on the path along the brook, our trail and the grounds all around brightened by the reflection from the virgin snow. Walking in the woods in the dead of night then evoked no fear, just peace and solitude, and Vernon.

The mid-April snow has stopped.  There is no telling how long the scene before me will last, perhaps a day, or two, or it may vanish as quickly as it has appeared with the next sunrise. It's time to pack up and move on to better fields. After all, Easter is this Sunday. A time for rebirth, and a time for a new life.