By Mara Lorch
my lucky eyes see dust clouds overtaking the wide river valley in spring. After many dark, quiet months, I hear the water flow; the ice breaks up and melts away into the glacial stream below. Tender green dots the air surrounding tree branches, breaking white’s monotony. First almost imperceptibly, the colors of this place unfurl, then a wild cascade breaks away until there’s nothing here that isn’t green. Mountainsides bloom from root to crown, garden beds swell, moose hooves tramp new shoots down. I watch the world circle from this place, nestled creekside in the cottonwoods.
