Slipping, tripping and sliding most of the way I reached Bull Run just as winds died down and the snow quit falling for a moment.
I wasn't the only one who had been there today.
There were dog-like tracks right down to the creek but the animal who had made those tracks was not merely after a drink.
Those tracks resumed across the creek, indicating that the animal had crossed the creek . . .
. . . then turned toward a field on the other side.
I, too needed to turn - not across the creek, but in the other direction, back up the hill.
My plan had ben to follow the creek bottom, walking on the flat and studying the creek but that was not what the creek had planned for me. Where it cut into the hillside, the bank was too steep for me to continue so back toward the hill I walked.
I walked through weeds and briars that tried to hold me back, or at least claim a piece of my jeans for their own.
My climb continued until once again I was above the tiny stream.
Along my chosen path was this tree
Diseased and deformed, it could have been a museum piece, bumps and knobs exploding from within the heart of the tree. Grotesque or beautiful? Our subjective pronouncement will not change what is here before us but will only change the way we feel. This day, I chose beauty for that is the way it made me feel. I felt glad to have been there in front of the gnarled wood. . .
. . . shaped in a way that no earthly sculptor could match.
This was a memorable stop in my journey toward Bull Run Road. Tomorrow I'll show you a view of how others made their own memories near this same spot.