Today lets go right on through the garden and out the trinity gate to see what the woods holds for us on this foggy morning.
At 6:30 am, the sun is merely a strong suggestion. Like a shy bride it peeks through its veil of moisture laden fog.
Light touches our shoulders as we step onto the mowed path while the leaves and branches drip with heavy foggy dew. To our left we can see the future. This is where two hundred trees were planted by Jeff and me a few years ago. There is little proof of our work. Hemlock, walnut, oak, hazel nut, and cherry trees hide their potential among weeds. There are some larger trees, remnants of the forest that was roughly timbered before it became ours. Looking to the left we notice a scarred tulip poplar, damaged by a log skidder or falling timber.For now, we see mostly weeds and volunteer poplar trees growing amid the brambles that promise a few blackberry pies.
Beside the path grow many Mayapples including several like this one below that has been changed either by an outside source or a mutation. Does everyone have some of these or is this a local happening. I've been noticing speckled Mayapple leaves for about five years.
Water is not the only thing falling on the leaves.
Tiny blossoms, like stars have been caught by a giant green hand.
The leaves also have provided a place for this tiny moth resting after what was probably a busy night.
As we look to our feet we spot a clover opened to its full beauty. At first sight, the flower seems very small, but it is all in our perspective. To its visitor it must seem large. Do our homes seem so small from above? We do miss alot when we forget to stop and watch, don't we?
But there is also danger lurking nearby. As we tread among the enemy we must be careful. This is why we wore our socks and long pants, isn't it? This year's crop of poison ivy is very healthy. I've read that the poison ivy is becoming stronger. All the extra carbon dioxide is food for its growth. The past couple years poison ivy has become more resistant to herbicides and allergic reactions to its oil have become worse. We will be careful. I, for one, will dump my jeans promptly into the washer when I get home. But let's not think any more about the three-leaved menace.
How much better to see this lovely daisy, not quite fully opened as it displays its sharply contrasting colors and a clear display of Fibonacci pattern in that each floret is oriented toward the next by 137.5 degrees or the golden angle displaying a pattern of interconnecting spirals that is the most efficient way to pack florets onto one flower. But enough science. I want just admire it's beauty.
The sun is gaining force as we reach the midway mark in this morning's walk. Stepping onto the gas line right-of-way we look between the trees toward the hay field on the top of the hill and are greeted by the type of light that film makers use in their attempts to show us heaven. This is the scene where the hero dies and "sees the light."
We don't have to die to see the light. We just have to get up early, take the walk and pay attention.
By the time we tramp through the weeds of the gas line, my jeans have become so heavy with dew that they threaten to fall down with the weight of the moisture. So it is back through the woods until we spot home through the leaves at the edge of the woods.
I have no intention of crossing through the tall, wet, tick-laden grass. but choose, instead to skirt the field and come into the yard past the rows of planted wildflowers now glowing golden yellow in the morning sun.
The sun is up and beaming brightly as we complete our circle and are back at the garden yard gate.
Lets go inside. . . but no, there is no time left today.