The winter is giving way to spring. Slowly the snow melts and adds to the little streams which run to the creek.
The creek is already bursting at the seams and taking over the lowlands of the woods. Mud on the trails begins to peer through.
Beautiful old farming equipment is exposed once more still holding onto the secret of how they ended up so far back in the woods and abandoned so many years ago. These pieces are about 1/2 mile away in an area that is not cleared and is wooded. I’ve often thought about pulling them out to display at the house but they are a piece of history, our property history, so I leave them to remain in their final resting place and enjoy my walks past them in all seasons.
Is this the luck of the Irish on display for me today or rather just a gold mylar balloon that somehow passed through the taller trees and ended it’s flight on our trail?
And on the way back to the house the ice pond is a gentle reminder that Old Man Winter has lost his battle with the newborn spring and is going down slowly.