Had to catch a bus today. Once a week I have therapy and I get there by bus. Well, on the way…it is mid-March in the Berner Oberlands and March came in like a lion with Russian wind and cold from Siberia. The first two weeks felt the harsh results.
But this morning, on my way to catch the bus, I saw the promise of spring realized. I had to stop and photograph.
Is today the day? For sure.
And even I was still 10 minutes early for a bus that is always on time. Temperature had risen above 50 degree fahrenheit. Mild for mid-March. I sat down and took one more photo before the bus.
Deep breath of fresh water lake air. No chill. Yes, spring.
From a distance, it’s hard to see, but the waves carry it in the air…from that huge bowl of a valley…the pastures.
Closer, pastures rolling up and rolling across the slopes, the fields. My eyes and nose battle to receive their outpouring.
Invisible micro-whisps rising, swirling…they enter my nose, uninvited, confusing my sense of beauty with olfactory complexities; but then my receptors are overtaxed and I can receive no more—so I look and my eyes gradually suffer the same fate.
Why are these pleasures time-stamped? Am I being protected from following some forbidden sensual path into the home of these glorious plants?
Just a question. Because I will visit these pastures again tomorrow and for a brief moment share their waves of ecstasies.