Lisa Bondurant

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I spend my time raising kids, gathering eggs, cutting wood, scoping out trees for tapping, making syrup in the last days of winter, watching my garden NOT grow in the summer, writing, wishing that there were more hours on the clock for sleeping.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Winter Yeilds

 We gathered by twilight, beneath a wool gray sky. The winter had finally yielded just enough to the begging trees, to give them just a taste of spring.
For a few short hours, winter shrunk back and allowed the earth to warm.  Roots buried deep within the Appalachian soil started pushing sap from darkness, to awaken the sleeping branches above. We could almost feel their awakening, for all was quiet in the forest. No animal or birds moved or chattered, except my sugar crew.
They chattered like small chipmunks, talking of their day at school or favorite toys. They chattered about tracks in the snow and the magic of fairies. I worked in silence for I loved their song and was grateful for company. They want to be sugar makers also and soon have the brace and bit in hand, learning the skill of tapping.

I hope they will always want to be in the woods together, chattering like happy chipmunks. Chattering and listening to the trees awaken to the spring. I hope that I will always be somewhere close enough, close enough too hear their song.


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