A warm blue day has peeked out of the gray of winter. Even earlier this year, I have heard the frogs singing in the wetlands. They are singing in the Spring to come, still far away. Here and there in sheltered places, crab apples have been blooming since January. Daffodil and jonquil bulbs are pushing up out of the cold ground. The northeast is being hit week after week with blasts of deep snow.
In a thrift shop, I have found an army green floppy outback hat. It even says "Australia". Around the brim hang wooden beads on yellow strings. I think they must be to shoo away gnats and mosquitoes. On the monument trail up to the top of Kings Mountain, there is no need for this hat. That is one thing about winter on the trail. There are no bugs or snakes. Bears are hibernating and so are some people, half asleep bundled up in front of their TVs or clutching their cell phones.
There are small family groups, some couples moving up the trail. A couple has two little girls who have hiking sticks they are riding like horses. One drops her horse stick and runs down into a ravine. The parents tell her if she doesn't listen, they are going to turn back. She doesn't listen and they grab her up and turn back.
Today I do not read the monuments. I find a nice rock and toss it to the very top of Patrick Ferguson's Cairn as I have done since childhood. I have tossed many rocks now onto this mountain grave of the young Scotsman over the years.
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