There is a moment in spring where, if you don’t miss it, you travel in time
Yesterday I was 8 years old, on an Island in the Atlantic Ocean, and I was laying on the shore of a lake that had once consumed an entire cemetery.
Yesterday I was 19 years old, in a cottage on Lake Huron, and my friends and I were watching a lightning storm several kilometers away as it light up our minds and the night sky.
Yesterday I was 26, in a log cabin on the border of Algonquin Park, all by myself drinking tea as I watched maple trees shiver and as they leaned towards each other under the wind as if to tell each other secrets.
Yesterday I was 45, in the kitchen of my home in Edmonton, as my daughter slept on the sofa and my son learned about dinosaurs and all the windows were open and for a brief moment all was still and calm and smelled of the natural world.
There is a moment in spring where, if you don’t miss it, you travel in time.
You know when you that you haven’t missed it, because you can feel your tears roll over your smiling lips.
The Trent Wilkie 