Mountains are calling once again.
I dare say, anyone who lives in Alberta said that cliche phrase at least once a skiing winter or hiking summer seasons.
Yet, they truly are calling.
A continuous lockdown that keeps extending makes it almost an inevitable urge to pack bags and answer that calling.
One of the reasons is to witness how Spring walks down the hills, how it rushes in avalanches from peaks, how snow melts under blazing sunlight.
Driving on a curvy road with an open window.
Then, a twister of an awakening forest and soil, nourished with melting snow, bursts into a vehicle, and you know: Spring that arrives from the top of the mountains, is finally here.
The beginning of April was not celebrated by predicted balmy mild air in the valley and sobering cold higher in the mountains. It was sobering cold altogether.
(I remember contemplating whether I needed a wool coat.)
It was rejuvenating, however, to shift attention from penetrating through the coat cold to a forces awakening of Spring. That act involved heart and mind into pleasant musings and quiet joy.
I say, it was rather strange to pass by pine trees still under a weight of snow and watch ice melt on the river when rivers in the cities were unchained a long time ago. Nevertheless, the feeling that something was off, that Spring did not bother about punctuality, had not visited my thoughts.
I wondered, how did they bear to stay in the water so chilled, one could almost hear the breaking sound of thin crust of ice!
They stood and stood an in their endurance and somewhat idleness I read no apathy, but dignity.