This time at my site, I decided to figure out what was going on with the water. It was frozen and clear, and I could actually see which way the stream meandered. After being caked with leaves the last time I visited, I was thrilled to see the way the ice crystalized with left-over sticks and leaves from the great shedding that had happened earlier. I was able to hop over the frozen water to explore the tiny floodplain that had formed on its bank. What I found were pebbles frozen and raised up from the ground, and leaves that were iced together, reminding me of drying paper mache when I stepped on them.
I think the last few times I’ve been here, my eyes have blurred over the scene because of all the confusing leafy piles and tiny streams of water running where they shouldn’t be. But this visit made me take my time. Maybe because everything was frozen, I felt like I could jump around [as quietly as possible] and explore, whereas previously I would have just sat and tried to take it all in.
I got to look closely at the pieces of this space. The ice was frozen thick, and I was thrilled to see some sizable little fish flitting around down there. Of course, we had to test the ice, and I watched it crack under my friend’s shoe after bouncing like thick and slow laminated paper. I was most surprised to see the fish, and a little less surprised to see the ferns and moss still hanging in there. Though I saw a mushroom that had met its demise.
I always feel refreshed when I come here, but coming in the cold weather was a new level. Every breath meant another moment I was taking in this space, and I’m very grateful that I chose the spot I did, because seeing it change has been an exciting event. Leaves are gone from the trees, though of course the pine needles stay, and the green is slowly fading from the woods’ floor. I can’t wait to see what this place looks like covered in a layer of snow. I’d probably keel over with joy.