Ten-Finger Exercises

A day in the country

It was a splendid day for a drive. Bill had the camera with him, so my eyes had to be my camera. One particular, unknown kind of tree that grows along the old river bed is more yellow this week than last. It is the limbs, the bark itself, that are bright yellow; no sign of leaves yet. There were a few a small clouds hanging low and close, like scenery or props in a play. The hills are quite high and steep, and the winter wheat is several inches long now, a vibrant green. They are banded horizontally by dozens of cow paths, each about six or eight feet above the other. (My mother used to joke that the cows in places like that had two legs shorter than the other two so that they wouldn't lean. I don't remember ever believing her, but I remember thinking about it at length.

A large hawk with a golden breast, maybe a golden eagle?-- sat in one of the many nests along the stream. There was a convenient place to pull off the road, and I watched as the hawk took off and soared. It flew above the edge of the hills, getting ridge lift, then circled high. I was listening to Chopin's E Minor Prelude from Opus 48-- what wonderful music for soaring!

The stream was full to the top of the bank from snowmelt, and a rafter could have had a thrilling ride. The deeper I went into the canyon, the fewer plowed fields and more grazing land I found. On one steep hillside, the clumps of bunchgrass were scanty but regular, standing straight and lit brightly by the sun. It made them look like old tombstones, that frozen ground has heaved up and made them stand a little crooked, tilting slightly and irregularly.

The highway I traveled home, to go through another town and see another patient, was the Lewis and Clark trail.

Next week I'll be sure to take a camera and binoculars and a bird book. And maybe a gazeteer.