ARBORETUM, FEBRUARY 28TH.
Cold, snow on the ground from yesterday's freakish thundersnow. I swear the skies were green wild CLOUDS ripping to shreds over the 7 hills of Seattle (drumlins they're called, which is almost drumlines, which might explain Seattle's musical underpinnings).
Under the skirts of redwoods ruby crowned kinglets and super healthy looking squirrels working hard for a meal. If you stop a minute you can feel the redwood spirit.
Then, over a knoll, noise. Old school scene. Kids in winter gear- leggings, boots, gloves, hats falling off. I hear the teacher say, "Roll like this down the hill..." as she demonstrates. Man, that's brave, I think. It's 35 degrees and really muddy. I'm walking along a path and walk out of view but the path turns again toward the play space the kids have claimed. And there they are playing tag now, plastered with mud, cackling. The wildings chase the teacher toward me and she hides behind a tree. I call out to her and she turns around startled, "That's so great. Those kids are having a blast." She, of course, looks at me like a weirdo for a second but then smiles. She's young, plum cheeks. "We're so lucky to be here." She sweeps her arms to the trees where clouds scud, dreaming.
This is freedom.