I have been aching to come home all week, so now I sit ecstatic on the stone wall. As I have come to Walden she has come back to me.
Last week she was all ice with checkerboard channels of water. This week water pushes the remnants of ice back into shore.
The wind is so strong she pushes me away, up into the woods where the trees feel safe and strong against her. The shadows of their trunks leaning uphill. Their branches bowing to the power of the breeze.
I am lost. The waves seem to be running home but I can’t find it in the scuttling of leaves across the forest floor or the incessant wash of water onto sand or the ice slush seething with the activity of waves.
Gulls hover over known territories of water. The wind howls around the hollow into which the pond is set. And I sit amongst the hills. Finding home in a world that has returned from winter’s hibernation.