Spring in the mountains is a slower, more deliberate process. In Columbia SC, it always seemed to me that I went to bed in winter and woke the next morning to Spring- the azaleas screaming with blooms, the wisteria dripping from the trees and the temperatures soaring into the 80’s. Here in the mountains, the earth holds her cards closer to her chest and reveals tiny tidbits of spring as she sees fit.
This search led us down the dirt road to a patch of land we call Tom’s garden after a relative who cultivated it before he passed away. His daffodils were nodding with the weight of the new rain and the fiddleheads were shyly peeking their heads above the soil near the creek.
Best of all, we spied a deer run and followed it as far as we could. As we tracked, I sensed the deers’ energy. Walking their path, I could feel a glittering possibility that I could become part deer by simply following in their footsteps. My heart shined with joy as we saw their hoofprints on a bit of an island in the water.
Walking home, Matt smiled softly at me and said
That’s what I love about you. That you understand the magic in a deer run.