Ozark Thaw

The thaw has begun.  The removal of a week of ice and snow as the temperatures rise.  I love every season in this little holler where I live.  I love the fact that when I call it a “holler” and when I use the word “y’all” those closest to me smile because they know while it isn’t natural for me, it still comes naturally.  I was raised to use proper English, and yet my roots are in these Ozark Mountains where both of these phrases are, in actuality, quite proper.

I love that just two minutes spent on my front porch gives me more energy than any of those overly inflated promises on 2 ounce to 20 ounce bottles of marketing genius.  The sound of the thaw.  A delectabley blended recipe.  Drippings from branches, the running of the stream, the flutter of wings from a variety of native birds; cardinals, jays, tufted titmouse, juncos, and doves, just to name a few.  The intermittent tapping of a downy woodpecker.  The gentle ringing of the wind chime, a marker of the breeze of a changing season.  The sound of the release from a frozen creation sculpture.  Incomparable.