Our windows need washing, but I have the perfect excuse. It's been raining for 4 days and nobody washes windows in the rain. Besides providing excuses for all sorts of things, rainy nights are great for fires in the fireplace and popcorn with good movies. In the long range forecast, there was one sunny day, and it was today. Somehow, there wasn't time to wash the windows. Instead, I laced up my waterproof hiking boots and headed down to the hollow.
The GPS would designate this as the same location I've hiked on many occasions, but to my eyes and ears this morning, it seemed a very different place. The path was soggy underfoot, and before I reached the bottom, I could hear a chorus of streams.
The hands on my watch moved quickly in the hollow. A gnawing stomach reminded me that it was time for breakfast. I got up reluctantly and made my way back. Rue anemone and toothwort littered the uphill path.
Last year's flood altered this valley into an extension of the lake. When the water receded, things had changed. Where in former years one wet-weather creek flowed, 3 smaller, parallel streams now do summersaults over rocks and cut trenches in the sand. After wading across the streams this morning, I followed a deer trail north through a blanket of new green to see the dry creek bed I hiked in a couple of weeks ago. In its place, a small river now cuts through the valley. Some things are always changing.
With a boulder for an easy chair, I sat down and watched the churning water. Small waterfalls and eddies danced feverishly, catching the light in an ever changing display. Farther down, the stream slowed, exhausted by its exertion.
The hands on my watch moved quickly in the hollow. A gnawing stomach reminded me that it was time for breakfast. I got up reluctantly and made my way back. Rue anemone and toothwort littered the uphill path.
Back home, we watched a wild turkey gobbler dance slowly, the iridescent light shining off his feathers. So far, the hen is unimpressed. Some things never change.
