In the aftermath of a February snowstorm that brought a foot of snow, I noticed a single robin foraging for food as the snow began to melt. Many robins never left the northeast this winter. Since fruit is what they normally eat during colder months, I wondered why they remained, and I worried about them. When the temperatures warm and the ground thaws, they begin to look for earthworms and insects. As I watched this bird dig through the melting snow and flip leaves into the air, searching for food, I realized that I, too, am out of my element, searching, foraging, and most of the time coming up empty.



After twenty years in the Rockies, I am used to dry winters and lots of sunshine—neither of which I experienced during the past several months in the northeast. Like the robins that winter here, I find myself searching—foraging—for nourishment to feed my body, my mind, my heart, and my soul.



Living on the lake has provided a sense of cleansing and peace, but it has also brought harsh winds that rip through me and send me rushing indoors to complete isolation—exhausted and alone—struggling to find warmth and light.




With the approach of spring, the robin will no longer have to work so hard for so little in return. I hope the same holds true for me

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