Beaver Lake

One morning, not so long ago, my husband and I walked together.  We followed a muddy wisp of a trail along the river to a beaver pond, or lake, as it’s called, Beaver Lake. The sun shone in our eyes and made the frost on the trees glint. We were chilled at first but the…

Walking The Whitechuck

Dents are what we look for, slight indentations in the ground, places where railroad ties might have once laid on the ground.  There are three of us, Gretchen and Chuck and myself.   We’ve turned back once after discovering snow on the road, and realized the truck we have will never make the steep grade to…

The Trees

History. I seem to run into it everywhere.  I wasn’t looking for it this morning.  Not at all.  I simply want to go for a walk, wander in the woods.  Dispel the melancholy that seems to own the morning.   A March morning, somewhere near spring.   A breeze bends some of the drooping tips of the…