Snow in March

The sky lightens behind the ridge across from the cabin, revealing a landscape covered with snow from a late winter's storm. At this point of the morning the world has no color; Everything is a black outline or a shade of gray. Outside it's silent, motionless, a black and white photo of the moment.
The undersides of the clouds turn pink as the sun rises a little higher and begins to bring the color out of the day. Here and there is a little blue sky. The colors emerging, soft blue and pink pastels make me think this day will start in winter and end in spring.
Direct sunlight begins to hit the snow covered mountainside and the world becomes blinding in it's brightness. The flag hangs limp. The sky is blue. The green of the trees begins to show as the snow melts and slides off their needles. Soon the wood-burning stove will be overheating the house. The dog wants to go outside. I can take off my indoor coat.
The snow on the ground must make it more difficult for the birds. I can see them beginning to loiter outside the Octoberfest room hoping for bread crumbs. The Blue Jays come to my whistle in the morning. They're part of my A.M. entertainment. One screech from me and they know it's feeding time. Days like today I can hardly return inside from throwing bread crumbs on the ground, get my coffee, and sit down to watch the show before the bread is all gone.
It will be muddy on the mountain today. Melting snow. There will be rain later in the week , too, and more mud, but it will be a Spring rain, warm, full of promise, and intermittent. My fourth winter at Bradland is ending. More comfortable this year than the previous three, better fed, happier, I will miss the rain and cold as the year progresses through the warm seasons. There is something to be said for cozy, warm, familiar and comfortable. This winter I was all of those.
Forty months into this adventure, the struggle is over. Survival no longer dominates my life. All of the comforts of the modern world are here at Bradland. It is now time to sell, no matter what the cost, OR find some way to entertain myself. The time may be ripe to learn "Chainsaw Carving" and start my masterpiece and gift to the world; A mountainside of tree carvings , totem poles, faces on trunks, and other eccentricities in wood. Got to do something. How about poetry from 1978?

Young men work 'til they're old and gray,
Few will ever get far,
At sixty five they can take a break,
and wonder who they are,
until spirit from body goes astray,
time has left it's scar.

The sun goes down at the end of the day,
not caring where you are,
the moon will shine it's own special way,
reflections of a star.

In a day and age when the hearts of men can easily be bought,
Soldiers fight without hope to win,
and me, I'd rather not,
go to a war to see my end,
that needlessly be fought.

The sun will rise to lend the heat
the cold of night has sought,
The moon may hide to rise again,
the day will soon be hot.

The world revolves with it's unworthy guests,
whom only stop to drink,
the milk of the land without thought for the mess,
they leave behind to stink.
Existence and life, a perpetual test,
and it makes me stop and think,
Where should a man put his time to invest,
and what are true instincts?

The sea opens up to the sun in the west,
as it settles with a wink,
the moon soon shines high aloft in it's nest,
enhanced by rings of pink.