Walking around the same area for a number of years is a relationship with the banks and the trees, and memories.
Lucky me catching this old turtle on a rock. The younger ones dash in before you can barely see them.
I miss so many trees, old friends that leaned low over the water, creating pockets of mystery along the banks and great places for the birds and frogs and turtles to hide out. The storms of winter and Parks and Rec have left little on the banks. Still - mushrooms budding on tree trunks, green shoots in the muddy edges, lend a hope that Nature will rally yet again, grow, heal, bloom.
The beauty of a bird
versus the idiocy of what people dump in the lake...
Enjoying the rowdy game of Lacrosse that was playing in the high school field
getting my walking rhythm back,
and remembering to listen to what the trees say when the wind rushes through. Drove home feeling chilled to the bone but good, the way a Spring walk is supposed to feel.
An impromptu jaunt to Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island on Sunday.
It felt very New England but that is the seaside effect, I think, the Northeast coast always sings of whales and tales and salty history, my favorite haunts.
A nice stroll, delicious iced coffee and snacks at a great place called Sweetie Pies where you could eat out on the covered porch and admire Spring.
too late for the whaling museum which has what must be the most handsome mannequin I have ever seen - isn't he? And then back over the bridge, homeward bound.
