Little Bang Theory

This is the time of winter when I start jonesing for some color – every little variation from the gray scale catches my eye. On warm days I drive the back roads, hugging the shoulders, scanning the south-facing banks and rock cuts, limping along at an unmanly pace, pissing off the pickup-driving hicks who need to get somewhere.

Yesterday afternoon, I pulled over in the little hamlet of Monroe Bridge to investigate an inch-big patch of green peeking out from under its winter finery. It was a tiny community of plants longing for a fine Spring day, but doubtless enjoying whatever sun had found its way into their little niche in the wet rocks:

And across the cleft (all of a foot away,) another community,

telegraphing its desire, hoping to be noticed when the winds of change bring a swelling, a gift of spores, Spring’s explosive release.

Tomorrow, there will be more snow; but today, they bathe in the expectant light of Love.