Directly overhead is a canvass canopy, semitransparent, white with blue stripes. Leaf-shaped shadows dance on the canopy to the music of the light breeze. And, oh, that gentle breeze cooler than warm climbing up the hill and pushing through the surrounding trees. It’s a clear, clean breeze forcing me to brush wisps of hair off of my face.
The branches of the pine trees are so delicate in the breeze, surrendering to its whims, gently rising then falling, swaying north than south. Next to the pine trees, the taller oaks and elms resist the breeze, firm in their centuries old resolve not to be effected, yet the persistent breeze coaxes and teases until little by little even their ancient leaves respond, reminding me of someone who unsuccessfully tries not to laugh while being tickled.
The early afternoon sun penetrates and lights up the leaves in its path creating lacy patches of green throughout the woods. The poor leaves on the sun’s periphery dull and dark in comparison, but their time will come as the sun slides across the afternoon sky.
At the bottom of the small hill, beneath the shadows of the trees, a stream of mountain water lazily wanders down a path it has been following for hundreds of years, trickling over or sliding around and under rocks and fallen trees and branches. Once beyond the trees, the stream is greeted by the afternoon sun and surrounded by marsh grasses of neon green. Frogs and snakes and occasionally a crane live in that neon green grass. They go about their business doing whatever they are inclined to do and every once in a while they thrill or frighten a curious camper. At night the frogs croak for hours.
I think the stream lingers there for a while, basking in the sunshine, but eventually is forced to move forward, out into the wide open pond. There the little stream is forced to join the other mountain streams that empty into the pond and becomes a part of a larger whole.
Rippling circles on the surface of the pond attest to the variety of fish that live there and once in a while a large snapping turtle defiantly creeps across the dirt road from the pond on its way to who knows where. Beautiful, iridescent blue and green colored dragon flies and small flea-like insects skip on the water’s surface just daring the fish to take a bite.
The breeze carries the sound of children splashing and laughing in the pond as well as the chirp from a chipmunk, a single tweet from a bird, the shuffle of little paws rushing across dried grass, the subliminal sounds of the crickets and all the other bugs and insects that live in the woods and the pond.
It is such a beautiful day here I couldn’t resist writing about it.