In Utah, winter likes to play dead, and at the end of January I feel the hope of warmer days beckon me to my canyon.
I walk up the dry river bed carefully stepping on unplanted stones. Every rock is smooth and round from the constant flow each spring. I don’t know how long life will take to smooth my edges, but it feels like it’s springtime water is coming soon to try again.
I drive here after work, as the afternoon sun slouches deep into the horizon like a tired employee asleep at his cubicle. I’ve also been at the same dance for years now, and as I gaze into the sky I wonder if I’m the only one who ever dreams of change. But the sun is quick to gleam back its response that sometimes change is as simple as shining warmer and brighter in coming days.
I look up at a woodpecker surveying a tree. The black and white worker cocks it’s red plumed head and after a pause, it flies to a better option.
Out here, there is endless variety and endless autonomy. Every rock, tree, and blade of grass is wonderfully unique. Every moment is constant change and I know I am the same.
Maybe like the verdant trees, my heart will grow stronger.
Maybe like the prepubescent sun, my smile will grow warmer.
Maybe like the January woodpecker, my decisions will grow informed and confident with time.
But for now, the sun is setting and as I walk back to my car, the rising shadow reminds me that it’s still only January. And perhaps I still have some time to plant the seeds of my courage.
Comments