Close to the Ides of March, when the winter snow melts in Aurora, Illinois, a drab landscape unfolds in shades of brown and gray. A feeling of impatience wells up within me to experience the brightness of spring, with her wildly colored tresses and riot of movement.
But if I am patient, and look closely at the forest before me, I spot signs of life. A dead log thrills my sense of design with its abstract patterns of ivory, chartreuse and silver created by living decay. Oak leaves shimmer with diseased spots that look radiant against the monochromatic forest floor. A tiny spider catches my eye, and I snap a photo of him before he jumps away. What else can I find?
A mourning cloak butterfly surprises me as I’m bending down, her scalloped wings nearly brushing my wayward hair strands. I see evidence of an insect that has bored holes into a tree stump. I notice a beaver-chewed sapling shaped like an arrow, pointing to a pair of Canada geese cutting through the weary-hued river. Bit by bit my spirit is lifting.
I behold a glorious display of snowdrops—triune petticoats aflutter in the strong breeze—that have pushed through a season’s worth of heavy mulch despite their delicate appearance. Nearby a tiny caterpillar crawls quickly, his dotted yellow sides undulating with every parallel movement of his suction-cup legs. I even see a green-leaved vine snaking its way up the rough bark of a tree.
Life is emerging from the drabness, allowing my heart to rejoice in the change, for abundance always follows the fallow season.
All photos © Sondra Sula.