Thursday, I had a long walk in Clifton Gorge, a state nature preserve located about twenty minutes south of me. It's one of the rights of spring that help to get me out of the winter funk that weighs on me during the long dark months.
During my walk, I came across this fallen tree with its broken branches radiating outwards like the pins on the cylinder inside of a music box. In its day, the tree's branches were full of the music of birds, squirrels, and the sound to the wind whipping through its branches. Perhaps the staccato sound of a wood pecker looking for a meal echoed from its trunk.
This tree's music is silent. Not everything emerges from the long winter unscathed. Time demands its due. I emerged from my winter a bit worn and ragged, but I get to embrace the spring with my senses tingling and that is good enough for me.