Two days from now, after a number of failed early attempts, Spring will officially have sprung. Several times, in February and March, local temps have sheared from over 70° to below freezing. OVERNITE!. These shifts driven by strong cold winds. And when it’s that cold out, Scampi simply refuses to walk; in which case, I set off on my own.

So, finally, this morning, we drove ten miles north to Griffy Lake loop trail, into the wild after the tumultuous weather of the past three days finally calmed down.

Yes, after two full days of refusing to walk in the extreme cold, Scampi leads the way.

But then, within a few minutes, I got preoccupied. By ice over frozen mud, indicating just what we’ve been through this past week. And especially, the graceful curving patterns made by the ice!

And oh wow, look! — a single human footprint in frozen mud under ice.

Not all who wander are lost. At least not all rivers or streams of water, indeed, not any! Since when did nature run in straight lines? Or turn 90° corners? Our geometry is but an abstraction upon the fertile suchness of this wandering trail, this wandering stream. The map, folks, is never the territory.

Scampi’s had enough of my peregrinations. Come on Mom, let’s go!

Okay, okay! But I couldn’t stop myself from stopping again, at one of the “beaches,” to see if I could spot a geode, and of course, directly in front of me! Didn’t even have to look around . . .

Nature constructs bridges here and there, all of them temporary, like all of us are temporary . . .

From the front . . .

from the back.

In nature, especially before spring has sprung, I am continually reminded of death. Once a tall, straight, stalwart denizens of the forest, wind brings trees down, one after another, after another.

Aside: I’m reminded of one day in a car with my new in-laws, whom I was meeting for the first time. Jeff Joel and I lived in a yurt in Teton County, Wyoming; they lived in a giant house in northern New Jersey. Jeff was a wanderer by nature; Amos was a entirely civilized, and not only civilized, but lauded globally.

So we four were together in the car, heading into Yellowstone, when Amos, looking up from the map finally, and out the window into the forest, wondered, out loud: “Why is it so messy? Why don’t they clean it up?”!!

We come up over a rise. Aaah . . . the place where I always take a photo, whenever on this very familiar trail.

Okay okay. Finally we are on our way back, with Scampi very far ahead. I asked him to please stop, so I could take a photo, with him centered beyond the place where a newly uprooted tree has fallen across the path, only to be cradled by a smaller one on the other side.

I never did see any real signs of spring . . . until, stopping by the side of the trail and squatting down to pee, this! Tiny flowers!