It's the winter of my life, and I'm walking through the Alabama pines.
Scanning the forest floor, my eyes unearth the Fall leaves, now brown and naked, long-drained of their sunny yellows, citrus oranges and ruby reds.
As I walked across the lush carpet of freshly laid pine straw, I couldn't help but appreciate nature’s landscape crew. Were they for hire?
The tops of lean, towering trees boasted evergreen canopies and swayed with a bragging air of being...well, ever...green.
Teeny clusters of baby grasses, prematurely peaked their heads through the ground—confused by the warmth of the January sun.
After all, does nature not tell time by the ebb and flow of the changing seasons?
Who could blame them for looking?
Not I, because I too, stood dreaming of the newness of spring. Yet, still longing for the proper order of seasons-- the chill of Winter--its cue for nature's next act.
The Sunlight streamed through the crevices of the forested ceiling, casting shadows as its rays darted and danced, highlighting my way.
A gentle breeze whispering, leaves swirling--mimicking tiny tornadoes; birds flitter and flutter from branch to branch and back again.
A gust whips up with an unexpected chill. Pulling my jacket tighter, I remind myself that it is still January.
Wandering the meandering path by the pond—I spied an abandoned fishing skiff—waiting patiently for poles, flies and bait, and, of course, a captain to captain.
Small lakes dotting the scene--a grand, Lake Christine, boasts her glorious fountain.
I love water and watching its cascades, trickles and waves. To my delight I happened upon a rushing streams, recently filled to the brim from heavy rains.
This babbling brook, as some would call it, caught my eye, and I stopped. “Babbling” was an unfitting, insensitive label for this particular flow.
There's no listless chatter or gabbing--only music to my ears, tranquil and present.
Beyond the wooded edge of my walk, amber fields of grain and tall, golden grasses were swaying along to an anthem of song.
The golf course was quiet, yet brilliant...neon tee boxes gleaming bright against the cloudless skies of blue.
A flash caught my eye. I turned my attention. Intent on finding the cause of distraction. Woodland creatures. On the move. Nameless. Unseen.
Keen to uncover my unnamed companions, I sidle up to the Downy Woodpecker-- desperately pecking the split rail fence, bothered by my interest in his business.
I'll save my daydreams for another time and place--there's too much to discover in the here and now. High above me flew striking stripes--a tail of a hawk...gliding, midair.
His name had escaped me or did I even know it? So I Googled his features, found his image and introduced myself to the Cooper's Hawk...too fast for a photo...but well-caught in my eye.
A fiery red flash split the scene...
A stylish Mohawk, a dead giveaway. The Pileated Woodpecker, repeatedly pelted a pine with its beak as if in competition for a symphony seat.
Did he know he already had one?
Across the forest, a crimson speck, the Red-Headed Woodpecker vied for first chair-- stiff competition for the other pied piper. I drew out my phone to snap a pic-- he laughed as I missed. He was all too quick.
Deciding to head back to home base, coursing through the trails, I found my way to the shimmering pool. Laying down on chaise, I "worshiped" the sun and took a brief soak--basking my face in the warmth of its glow—a satisfying dose of Vitamin D.
I like being present. It's not too hard to do
Yet a swipe of a finger, the sound of a text
Unrelenting calls from our hip-hitched devices Steal our attention...
and the time is gone
Wake up to the moment...
It's waiting for you
I woke to my own in south Alabama.