Yesterday I hiked in Saratoga Spa State Park on the five-mile trail. I walked down near Gyser Creek and paid attention to the water. In some places, the water ran smooth with rich colors of deep brown and black. It was unbroken and beautiful. In other places there were riffles. According to the USDA website: “Riffles are the shallower, faster-moving sections of a stream. Look for areas with a fast current where rocks break the water surface. That's a riffle.” I learned that riffles oxygenate the water and help aquatic creatures survive. It’s important to understand these things, but equally important to pay attention to the beauty, to the song, to the life lessons that riffles hold. As I stood taking in the reality of riffles I reflected on how the rocks change the character of the water, enliven it, make music with it. There are rocks in the stream of my life. Do I let them enhance my living or do I fixate on getting rid of them? Creation has so much to teach, to inspire, to delig
Showing posts from February, 2020
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Saturday I took a walk at Vischer Ferry Nature Preserve. I almost wanted to stay in, to wrap myself in my nice cozy bed and not move. It was 6 degrees out. But there was a clear blue sky. Blue and forever. The blue that shakes me to my core and won't let me stay indoors. A blue that beckons and insists. So I got dressed in my warmest clothes and went out to meet the blue. Actually, the weather had warmed to a balmy 24. The ice on the canal glistened and danced in the sunshine. So many different patterns and textures. So many different shades of clear and white and gray. The ice spoke - creaking and moaning. I wondered what the muskrats were doing under the ice. It looked like they had many holes for air, but these had been sealed up in the frigid temperatures. How did they get out of their cattail homes? I missed the birds. It must be too cold for them to waste calories. As I neared the bridge that would take me to the car I saw a flash of another blue - a bluebird. Then another.
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Saturday I did a hike at Grafton State Park. There was no snow to ski but there was ice! I enjoyed putting on my microspikes and walking the length of Long Pond and Shaver Pond. There is something very reassuring about seeing the ice fishermen out there. I know that the ice is safe at five inches and seven inches respectfully. A couple of guys were pulling perch from the frozen water; one guy just missed a trout. I thought about the fish - swimming in happy oblivion and then - zap. They don't get a respite from being "hunted". I was happy to get my winter fix. The trees were sprinkled with snow. There was a monochromatic look to the day: gray skies, whitish pond, and trees. The gray didn't seem oppressive. It just intensified the mystic of winter. Somehow winter settles my heart and mind, calls me to calm and reflection fills my soul with quiet. This year I am mourning not having more of winter - but it is only the beginning of February. I know that I am a minority.