A Patient Artist

Finally some really cold weather settled into the Piedmont of North Carolina…for a couple days anyway. And by “really cold” I mean it stayed below freezing for 45 whole hours. If you live in Florida, that sounds cold. If you live in Minnesota, that sounds like spring.

I wanted to see some ice-rimmed river-water…you know, for proof it is actually winter here. From the bedroom window, the creek looked to be running free, trickling over the rocks, not frozen in time. A short drive downtown, near the few folks shivering at the farmers market, I sought the edges of the Eno. The footpath crunched under my boots. Much of the Eno flowed quiet and free. A reminder that our winter is not fierce.

The last time I had walked the path to the Indian fields it was early Spring. The trees were bare then as now. Much looked the same. I have missed two seasons along this route. I missed the spiders, the mosquitoes, and the poison ivy. Now, as I crunched down the path, looking for ice, I realized it is a good time to be out. A muskrat hole, usually hidden under a low tangle of briers, became exposed as warm moist air escaped the depths to condense and hang amongst the brambles…an icy chandelier marking the hole. I saw several of these, but no muskrats. I continued down the path, stepping beside deer tracks in the frozen mud.

Then finally I reached a stretch of slow water in the shadow of a north facing bluff. Here the ice held anchor to a river rock and jutted thinly into the cool current. Winter is a patient artist.