Crest

My friend blessed me with a gift this early morning.  What is the view from your house the quiet excited thoughtful voice implores.  Oh, I’ve woken you, sorry, go back to sleep.  NO wait, look.  Tell me what you see…

Waves of orange and grey slip by my windows undulating across the sky, lights from a descending craft fading in flickers on its homeward journey.  The orange, an elemental glow from amber streetlights on Armstrong’s Point.  Grey, the thick cloud of flurried snow as a heavy wind blusters and blows.

It is May Day isn’t it?  What madness is this?  It is not.  This is nature’s maypole dance, a swirling crescendo of beautiful girls dancing across the sky, colours of nature in the deep night sky.  Mixtures of rain and snow, the foundations of spring life, swirl dancing to the ground below settling on trees and rooftops and cars and streets…

…and riverbanks.  The new fallen snow expands the ever widening river, this itself a tributary to the larger shed river.  The wind is churning the waters that have been hastening their descent all day as they rise to the Red.  The Red itself rising faster has been backing its waters into the Assiniboine, the two expanding waters meeting and mixing in a churning eddy at the end of Cornish Street.

Waters rise, meet, and churn, rain and snowfall, wind gusts and blows, blusters of grey and orange, release to a clean white cover.  A perfect choreography this May Day, the natural earth rhythm working to crescendo, a rivers crest rising to peak to trumpet herald a new season, a new reason, of fertile hope.

This I share with my friend, grateful for this late night call, blessed to be able to share my view, thankful voice we part to silent wonder of this earth given art.