The cold crisp morning air battled against my warmth. It pushed at my finger tips, my nose and my cheeks, trying it's best to get in. But it wasn't that kind of morning. The frost wasn't heavy on the ground, instead it glittered on the edges of the plants, sparkling in the sun. There was more in the air than the cold. It was as if hope, spring, and energy were flitting about on each little ray of sunshine. I could see it in the small buds on the tips of the branches, in the early spring flowers that opened in the protective well of the trees. The protective cases were starting to split open and show tiny little hints of the leaves unfurling. Each step along the path at the river's edge that lead me further had another small window into the coming season. The dog that went with me had his nose to the ground trying to take in each sense. We've both traveled this path numerous times a month and yet there seems to always be something new, something to discover. For him it is in the smells, mine in sight and I think I mirrored his discovery with my own. We wandered and I stopped. The robin in the path was the first of the season for me. The dog busy with an intriguing clump of grass and I watched quietly as the robin, hopped and flew down the path busy looking and hunting for it's food, skittish because we were there. Finally the dog picked up his head noticing the bird for the first time and took a few rolling steps towards the bird before it took flight into the brambles near by. He searched the area where he had seen the bird, learning it's smell, logging it for later. I stepped off the path, drawn towards the light from the distant sun which hadn't yet warmed the air. The branches and buds with the ice crystals glowed brilliantly as if tiny little fairy lights were turned on outlining the tree. We continued on our our way towards our spot at the river bend that gently sloped down towards the water's edge. The spot that the trees hung low to the water and created another world that moved to a rhythm slower than the one I am used to. It was lazy even in the winter, gentle and yet all around you could see where it had not been so gentle for a bit. The way the dried grass hung from branches over my head where they had been caught and twined around the branches when the river flowed angry and swift, spilling over into the path that I wandered. This morning though it was lazy again. The dog explored every bit of this little sand bar at the bend. I watched and waited, listening. The snow geese passed overhead, a mallard duck skimmed just above the surface of the river flying quickly upstream. The juvenile eagle in the tall cottonwood overhead watched like myself the comings and goings of the river. A final swim by the dog and more sniffing, a little rolling and it was time to head back to the car. He wanted to continue on down the path, I though, know his limit and it was time to head back. He drug his feet not wanting to return the way we came. He had already sniffed there and yet there are always new smells, new sights with looking at it from another direction. As we were walking, I started noticing the sounds growing louder. The caphony of crows announcing our presence to the forest community. The small sparrows flitting from branch to branch singing and the wood pecker knocking on the trunks became the music of the morning, harmonizing perfectly. I just wanted to stop, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and the spell was broken by another person and his dogs venturing out to explore this magic just like me. We crossed paths, said hello, going our separate ways. I tried to find that magic again but it had slipped away as quickly as it had come, still there were pockets that continued to glimmer gently as we wandered back.