Spring in Montana is a wet, sloppy, muddy love affair between water and soil, air and sun, life from winter’s death. I sent Brent out this morning with peanut butter and rosehip jelly sandwiches. He’s going fishing for “hogs” with his buddies – lake trout too full of mercury to eat, but he and his friends enjoy the sport and being on the big lake.
The chicks are in at Murdoch’s. And so is the Round-Up – Monsanto’s answer to a few healthy weeds. They can hardly keep it on the shelves it sells so fast this time of year. Oh yes, and don’t forget your genetically modified seeds of destruction.
My own winter darkness seems to have passed and I take big gulps of sober air, drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes, try to play catch up with all that hasn’t been done, attended to, given honor. Alcoholism and mental illness leave large chunks of life only half-lived, but occasionally there is a hole in the muck with enough light to see through to the other side. I work diligently to carve out more of the light while the grace is available.
I’ve prepared an Easter basket for my friend in Georgia who suffers from MS and I hope she can still enjoy the miniature candy-coated chocolate eggs. Her teeth are bad and I wonder about my gift, but will send it anyway – not sure what else to do.
It snows at night and melts during the day – adding to the mud and slop where new life will be conjured and sprung despite all that is wrong and all that is right in the world.