Spring Morning

by  S.F. Britton

    Commanded to silence by the army of red and white pine that line the banks of this mighty river, I am lost in the silent depths of the seemingly ageless forest and the air sharp with the scent of fragrant trees.

    Tangled up are some of the old trees and twisted and broken are others. Log upon log, fallen many years ago they lay at the feet of their brethren ranks still standing. The smell of earth from layers of ancient rotting wood below the melting snow now permeates from the forest floor and overcomes my senses.

    Old Man Winter has loosened his grip on me and there is a new found tenderness felt when I look to the tall pines set against a sky of breaking blue. Oh how profound is this scene of Spring before me. I make my way through the old trail and down into the rivers' haven.

    Standing in the rock strewn river a rainbow has taken my offering. Have you ever landed a rainbow trout? A prism of color changes as the struggle ensues. The rainbow with it’s fleeting colors - a vibrant band of violet and red from cheek to tail and it’s body topped with an almost dark olive/black. These river dwellers grow dark and tough to see except a flash from their sides.

    Full and firm in the hand as I release it back to the cold riffle. No sooner than I raise my head from my catch a group of deer cross the river upstream. Timid is the last one to cross and he stops to take a curious look at me then leaps into the cover of the pines.

    Links of lingering ice break free from their winter bound chains and enter the river from the neighboring brook - the melody of the song birds surrounds me and the shadows from old stumps are giving way to the rising sun. I am left in the surreal.

    I take in a long deep breath of the cool, crisp morning air. The realization of a long awaited Spring morning that I thought would never come is here again.

    Spring Morning