(Written 4/7/2009 after spring blizzard. Remember, not so long ago. . . )
The robins are here this morning. On my deck, in my few sparse juniper branches that refuse to be crushed by the snow, in my cottonwood tree. Their orange breast against the blue sky evokes a glimmer deep in my core--
Beyond the tree I see a black baby calf dancing in figure-eights around his blizzard-weary mama; his tail flying straight behind him. If he could speak, I imagine he would be saying, "Mama! Mama! The sun! The sun! Do you see the sun? And the blue sky? Blue! That is what blue is! Wow! It's amazing!!" It is the first time this 3-day old baby has seen a blue sky, has seen the sun. He has only known white and gray, cold and wet.
And mama, slowly, deliberately chewing her cud of hay, wearily lifts her head, utters a soft shallow, "Mmm," saying "Yes, dear."
There is a glimmer again. Color. Light.