Walkwright

3/23/23: Spring has sprung. There have been turtles sunning on logs, and frogs singing all kinds of songs. Wood frogs and peepers who are so loud and then shut up immediately when you walk near. Bluebirds all over. Lots of geese flying overhead honking away. Water rushing in all the creeks and cricks and spillways.

I love how this wall has a hole that has some greenery spilling forward. That's how it is right now, the deluge of spring's green is pushing through this small hole and soon the wall of gray will crumble and the green will overcome.

3/16/23: I followed these clouds around all afternoon. They looked different, animated in some way. UFOs disguised as clouds? These are called lenticular clouds. They’re compelling.

3/11/23: We woke up to this, barely took any photos, and now it’s mud mainly. Later in the day the sun was shining and water running everywhere. Big storm predicted for Monday.

3/10/23: I rarely walk through this old dump, but today I was intrigued. There are two old cars that look really cool--I don't know why old cars rusting in the woods always fascinate. It's a story about the past, the way that metal deteriorates is sort of beautiful. What's not beautiful is the other mounds of garbage I passed, all kinds of plastic toys from the 70s that have a tacky charm that more points to our excesses. An old avocado green toilet, half broken. Lots of glass bottles, some older--again with the patina of time can be seen with a romantic eye. On the whole though, there are mounds under the ground; how long have people been dumping things here? Garbage is sad but fascinating, and we should be talking about it more.

3/9/23: This tree was so striking—thoroughly dead but yet still so intact, weathered into a sculpture.

I couldn’t get the whole thing, of course. It’s too big, too much. You had to be right next to it to fully grasp its power.

I love all the history in this area. I feel lucky to be able to casually stumble across structures like this.

3/7/23: Brisk, felt like March today, blue sky with passing clouds, wind pushing the river along, the pine boughs. Snow still left in patches, clinging to trees and filling divots. Look at this emerald moss!

I went off trail following an owl, lost the owl, but found this skull under a comfy old pine. The skull is old—a deer, I believe. The sutures are incredible, and what is that hole in the top there? I had to run, so left this relic in its soft nest of pine needles.

3/5/23: Gorgeous lichens.

I was following footprints through the snow and I wondered what a handprint would look like. Unsurprisingly, it looked strange.

2/26/23: A little bit of snow fell, but still I can hear the blackbirds and cardinals. Squirrels scratching on the trees. I spent a good bit following tracks—here’s a woman who has the same size shoe as me, she walked about an hour ago with her dog. Alongside is a neat fox trail covered with some snow, my guess is it was from the previous night as the prints were snowed on. I followed the fox trail into a thicket of brambles. Twisted and woven like a nest, I wanted to sit in it.

2/25/23: and this happened today. Much more accumulation than we expected. A few inches through the day. It was cold and gray all day. We spent the day tubing at a ski resort because we missed the snow. But when we came home, there it was, covering the lilies and tulips that have started to emerge.

2/24/23: I am seeing more and more squirrels. Also, mushrooms coming back to life. I am enjoying the silvery way the squirrels climb up trees, winding around in spirals, so effortlessly like a thread being pulled up a tree.

And I love how these mushrooms cluster so neatly; a community, a social group. Curious when the morels will pop up this year.