Wildflower witness

Monday, March 29, 2010 at 9:43am

Running through the woods. I leave the trail, turning left and going deeper. I highstep over fallen branches, brought low by last week's windstorm. Quick lateral movements across the face of brambles. They try to bring me down, their arm tackles break my skin, but not my momentum. My wet socks breathe in the cool mossy moisture.

And then I break through the line, but the unfiltered sunlight catches me short. Four steps to stillness. I crouch low to the ground and watch as the geese play in the canal. A bird is singing above me. My eyes catch up with my ears. She is a little robin, calling for spring. I move towards the water and sit on the slope. To my left, a tangle of thorny vines form an imperfect cage. To my right, a burst of wild flowers strut their yellow to defy the chill in the air.

I have seen such cages and such defiance before. I live between them. But there is something important about the relationship between the two in this place. I think about how much time I spend planning and strategizing and researching the cages in my world. I want theories and understanding. I want to figure out which vine to cut first. But these flowers just grow in their midst.