Iris

Memorial Day approaching means that irises must be blooming. I thought all my irises were white, but there, in the corner of the garden, a beautiful purple iris has bloomed. I love garden surprises.

Covered Bridge

I've always wanted to see a covered bridge. They instantly take you back in time where everything moved at a slower pace, where you might have to give way to someone coming from the other direction, or stop and chat as you navigate the span. You cannot whiz by at 70 miles per hour; they force you to stop and aknowledge their presence.

Muneca

Muneca is getting a little antsy. She's been perched on the mantle all winter, and has been seriously deprived of fresh air. She did get up to the high country last weekend, but she's just a little too awkward to be joining me on my long runs. I may have to find a way to carry her on my water belt. This morning, once I had crested the hill, it was 6 miles of downhill, and most of that beside a stream. Noisy, bubbling, laughing, the stream is filling up with the beginning of the runoff. Hammocks and hanging chairs have been placed out behind the houses, in anticipation of the warm and lazy afternoons to come. Penstamen bloom together in neat blue bunches near the roadside. Irises are opening their flags, and perfuming the air, mixing with the wild choke cherry. Who wants to join me for a run?

Lichen

When the rocks are beginning to peak through the snow, and the sun is finally high enough in the sky to find them, a curious transformation takes place. The lichen also seems to wake up from its dormancy, and mirror the color of the trees beginning to leaf out 3000 feet below.

Mother's Day Tree

I've slowly come to realize that I have special trees in many special places. When I go back and look through my photos, I discover I have captured the same tree many times over the years. This tree I only seem to visit once a year, and it is always on Mother's Day. It is the essence of newly erupted spring green leaves against a still desolate background. In the foreground, choke cherries are blooming, providing a white frame and a fragrant sense of belonging.

On the trail again

One of my goals over the winter was to snowshoe up to Mills Lake. A favorite destination of mine, but I had never visited it in the winter. I thought I might be leaving it a bit late this year, yet, even though it is May, there is so much snow it felt more like February. Snow is up to the railings along the bridges, even at the trailhead. We hiked up to Mills Lake so quickly on the winter trail that we decided to keep going - what's another couple of miles? Crossing the frozen lakes certainly makes the route more direct than in the summer, but we were heading straight up the drainage, sometimes where the watefalls flow. The thick snow and the altitude slowed us, but finally through the trees, we spotted the far cliffs of the Black Lake basin, and could see McHenrys and Chiefshead towering in the distance. At the lake, we climbed up the mountainside to a rock large enough to be above the snow, sat out in our T-shirts, and enjoyed lunch at almost 11,000 feet. I've had many summer stops beside this lake that were not as warm.

Sights and smells

You know that winter's grip is loosening when you can start to smell outside again. First the dirt gives off the loamy smell as if you were opening a new bag of potting mix. Then you might be out on a bright day when the sun starts to bake the bark of a ponderosa pine, giving off a thick vanilla aroma. Suddenly the lawn requires a cut, and memories of past summers float on the air. And just when you think that spring has been taking its sweet time, the fruit trees and bushes assault the senses. Sometimes a pristine white, sometimes a deep fuschia, but always fragrant, they invite you to start opening the windows, to walk around the neighborhood, to drink up their excess and sigh that you are lucky to experience another perfect day.

In tune with my surroundings

In spring, the changes are so rapid, each day brings a new unfolding. The tiny leaves pushing out on my aspen tree, the apple tree turning darker by the day, the day lilies reaching up and out. I was away for a week - Chicago and Greencastle, Indiana. Other spring timelines were in play, and plenty of moisture, given the unceasing rain that they have endured in the Midwest, Lawns were green and lush in Chicago, even though the trees and bushes were just beginning to leaf out - all the better to spy a brilliant yellow warbler against the twigs. A few hours south, and spring has arrived. That wonderful shade of green only found in the big box of crayons when I was a kid, highlighted by cardinals, another of the crayon hues. Back in Colorado, we have a little catching up to do, and now I have to adjust my bearings to the spring of the present.