At the spring equinox last year the world was in turmoil. A mysterious and deadly virus that began “over there” had made it to our shores. Schools, movie theaters, restaurants, health clubs, basically all “non-essential” businesses were immediately closed. Baseball, the quintessential harbinger of springtime renewal was put on hold indefinitely. The NBA abruptly paused its season. Panic buying wiped out supermarket shelves. What do you mean I can’t hug my friends? No live music? No summer festivals? Locked down in our homes, Zoom was a sorry substitute for real human interaction. A malevolent regime ruled in Washington, confident of another four years to wreck havoc on us all. To say things were looking bleak was a vast understatement. How on Earth would we survive? Well, survive we did.

On this glorious spring day one year later, the darkness of the past year seems like a fever dream. God’s paintbrush has splashed the neighborhoods and hillsides with every type of spring flower imaginable; their yellows, oranges, purples, whites and blues pulsate against a backdrop of green grass and blue skies. A crazed president has been replaced by a kind and humane president. Many thousands of people are being vaccinated every day. Daily covid cases and hospitalizations are on a steady decline. Businesses are opening up, masks are slowly being lowered and a collective sigh of relief can be heard everywhere. Fear and dread are  giving way to hope and positivity. On April 1st, the Major League Baseball season will begin on schedule. Actual fans, not cardboard cut-outs, will be in the stands.

I contemplate all of this with intense gratitude as I sit today at one of my favorite places in nature. I’ve come here numerous times over the past year seeking solace and a respite from a world gone mad. All around me are signs of renewal and rebirth.

When I arrive, a squirrel scolds me from the trees above. I don’t think he was expecting a visitor. Chattering jays carry on a noisy conversation. The subtle “chip, chip” of some mysterious forest bird fills in the blanks. A silent breeze ever so slightly moves the new green shoots of the surrounding willows. The breeze needs the trees to announce its presence and create the dance of spring.

The river current is languid and lazy, broken only by small ripples, swirls and dimples. The river is a canvas for the towering trees on the opposite bank, their naked skeletal branches are reflected in its surface. Diving ducks explore the edges of the canvas, vanishing suddenly as if pulled down from below only to reappear again a few yards away. Feathers and twigs are in no hurry on their way to the sea, they always arrive right on schedule.

The breeze picks up, giving voice to the trees around me which creak like the bones of an old woman. I can feel the ancient spirit of the Pomo whispering in the wind. With a flash of black a cormorant jets past, its long, black neck pointing like an arrow downstream.

Two crows are conversing now, it’s an age old discussion filled with mystery and wonder. A tiny butterfly, bone white and brilliant against a landscape of browns and greens, lets the wind take it where it may. 

Hope.