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May 3, 2015

Maybe in May

Maybe in May

Maybe in May, the snows receded, exhuming the bodies of winters wrath. Deer and elk. Piles of bones. Antler sheds. Sticks and stones and broken bones.

Maybe this winter went on too long. Maybe it snowed too much. Maybe in April it rained too much.

It's hard for the people down the hill to believe the carnage up here. Hard to describe it to them. A fantasy theatre for children.

Down the hill, the red bud trees bloomed and hyacinth and tulips climbed out of the ground. Spring unfolded quite orderly, with homeless people on street corners begging for anything but work.

And, while all of this is unfolding down the hill, up here in the foothills, April is just playing with us. Batting us around like a kitten.
Every weekend in April it snowed. They closed the schools and we went to get Piper and got so stuck we had to have a Bobcat pull us out. Down the hill, they got nothing.

"I can't come into work today...I can't get out of my driveway...they aren't plowing the roads...we have 4 mountain lions feeding on a deer carcass in my neighbor's yard..."

Where do you live, man? Christ?

Like, it's hard really for them to understand.

But Maybe in May, the skies finally cleared and the sun came out and melted away winter's last transgressions.
The Mountain Lilac bloomed. 2 weeks ago it was pressed to the earth evenly, ironed flat by the snows. But somehow it lived.
And now the hummingbirds have found the feeders. Maybe they slipped in quietly in April, under the radar. But now they're flying around like they own the place. Hummingbird dogfights. Buzzing the feeders. Divebombing the cats.

And Maybe in May, the yard turned green and the crabapple bloomed. and the dandelions.

The birds returned with a cacphony of noises, each one a forgotten song from summers past.

A Stellar Jay performed his best imitation of a Red Tailed Hawk, but fooled no one.

At night, huddled over campfires, we laughed and cursed the snow. We kicked the bones of winter into the fire, whistling past the graveyard.

Posted by Rob Kiser on May 3, 2015 at 11:01 AM

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