It has been a reluctant transition to spring in the mountains of the upper Columbia Basin. Those who have been here all winter have been tearing their hair out. I have merely been staring at the unmelted snow with astonishment, since I returned several weeks ago. In my garden, a statue of Kuan Yin has revealed herself slowly.
Several sunny days drew solar rays to the heat-absorbing volcanic stone from which Kuan Yin was carved. She emerged more fully.
On snowy walks, I began to notice the tendency of dark colours to absorb heat and speed melt. Deer scat formed patterns akin to scattered hope.
Granite stones near the shores of the West Arm melt the snow into perfect, surrounding spheres.
The melt continues, though the nights are still heavy with frost that dusts Kuan Yin’s gracious form every morning. I continue my routine of boiling one kettle for tea, one kettle for the ice in the birdbath.
A much-beloved Buddhism deity, Kuan Yin is known for her mercy and compassion. She reminds me of something I wrote about in The Glass Seed over a decade ago. Spring always returns.