I took an ill advised walk down to Onion Creek today. Jeb had his reservations but loyally followed his erring master off into the brush. We made it all the way to my favorite grove of trees without difficulty. I sat on a fallen log with several fungi, black and dead, almost shiny with age dotting the knotted old bark. I studied them intently as I sat for a while with Jeb, happily vigilante at my side. I listened to his panting as the wood grew silent. We were alone. We took in the changing aura of the woods around us. A hush fell over the grove as grey clouds drifted low overhead. Suddenly, the trunks and limbs swayed violently as if large animals were dashing along the highest branches but none were there. It was the last gust of wind before small drops of rain steadily fell in growing number. The mood changed as I stood up and took to the trail again, only this time it was filled with a tiny stream rushing along the dirt path and down exposed roots which shown like random steps on the forest floor. The rain fell harder and I walked along unrepentant ; my soaked shirt stuck to my chest, stomach and back. The rain washed over me and I felt clean and somewhat renewed. I broke through the other side of the grove and felt the real impact of a hard and steady rain. Thunder cracked the sky as we crossed a brown, dry field turning green as the wet leaves became more apparent and less rigid from the dry heat present only yesterday. I turned at the trail leading down to the creek, wide from use even though I seldom see anyone else there. It is not always a good park to be in alone. There was now a stream running down the center of the trail requiring I walk in the tall grass along the side. The water rolled down the hill toward the once dry creek bed, filled with bleached white stones. I began to slide along in the mud, down a steep slope, ending at the creek. I made it across to the other side without incident and wandered up the next muddy incline toward the main trail as thunder distantly rolled and blessed rain soaked my every pore. I was completely drenched now, down to my socks. A little toad hopped out of our way and dried branches resembled broken femurs parched by the sun during our supposedly mild summer. I came to several puddles where the wood chips used to fill in low ares had now risen deceptively to appear shallow, belying the 3 inch puddles underneath. I took a trail around the largest one and lost the path back to the main trail. I retraced my steps confident I had made a mistake but I had not. I was getting really wet and decided to cut through the foliage standing 6 to 8 feet tall. Strange single stalks with wilted, green leaves limp and hanging straight down forming odd little green ornaments tracing down the long, slender stalks. Eventually, I crossed over the purple skin of a fallen tree, leaning into the branches as I crawled over them. Once back on the main trail out of the park, I was at ease again and picked up a plain, brown stone with an odd shape that I keep as a memento of today. Hopefully I can recall this perfect day when I hold it in my hand, gazing into eternity.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 00:43:20 +0000
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