By the Grace of Trees

This morning the cardinals filled our woods with full-hearted song. Even more than Mrs. Muske’s daffodils, the chorus of this particular bird suggests to us that spring is stirring, once again. Stuttering its way to us, interspersed with icy blasts.

We were relieved to hear the redbirds. Last year, their numbers seemed greatly reduced, and we were reminded of the feeling we had during the recent drouth. A pressure of sadness that gradually crushed any sense of well-being as we walked through the woods, or rode past the fields of our beautiful Fayette County.

It created, in fact, a condition of ill-being, defined by my dictionary as a deficiency “in health, happiness, or prosperity.”

We were surprised by how physical it felt.

And despite the subsequent rains, the drouth’s effects linger. The understory of briars, yaupon and young trees has never recovered. A few years ago we couldn’t see through the woods around our tank. Now we can, and it makes our admittedly small property seem much smaller. Makes us feel somewhat precarious, and isolated. 

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