It
must have rained really hard last night - all creatures are still taking
shelter. A downpour cleared the path of dead leaves – tree roots are clearly
visible through the forest floor like pumped veins full of chlorophyll, the
blood of the woods.
I
am disappointed that I do not run into any deer with their lovely fawn, or the red
fox staring me in the face intently and defiantly, the occasional rabbit
crossing my path, or squirrels darting to and fro.
The
rain intensifies but the thick canopy sifts the large raindrops into a mist
that cools my skin. The silence is soothing and comforting. I forget about the
world in turmoil outside of the dense forest.
The
path winds up and down along downed trees from the recent straight line winds. Sixty
foot giant pines will be slowly devoured by parasites and rot, turning them
into soil-enriching dust. I reach the Snake Bridge. I baptized the walking
bridge after the snake I encountered one late afternoon - he was resting in a
coiled position after a satisfying meal bulging from his belly. The water
underneath is higher, teeming with small fish and frogs. I do not see any
snakes, they must be hiding too.
Steep
stairs guide me to the road. I walk alongside the road until I reach the river.
The water level is high against the banks. A lone fisherman is casting from his
boat, stopped in the middle of the Potomac. A light fog envelopes the banks on
both sides. A father and daughter team are fishing underneath the railroad
bridge. The fish are really biting. I wonder if they are catching catfish or
snakeheads, an invasive species from Asia. Someone had dumped their aquarium
pets into the river and they are multiplying like crazy. A man caught an 18-pound
snakehead in the Potomac near historic Occoquan. Fishermen catch them for rewards;
others eat them as a delicacy. Snakeheads certainly do not look appetizing to
me. It is amazing that they can breathe out of water and actually crawl on the
ground.
Walking
along the river’s edge, water is lapping against driftwood and rocks, very
close to my path. As I reach the forest on the other side, I hear the whistle
of a slow-moving freight train, barreling towards the bridge. I am wet now; there
are no trees to protect me for a short distance. As I enter the woods again, I
cross three more walking bridges. The water is lapping underneath my feet, making
the wooden planks quite slippery. A few ducks are out on the river’s edge,
catching a morning snack.
I
turn around and backtrack into the main forest, careful to watch my footing.
The ground is soaking wet and treacherous at best. The smell of rain, wet soil,
and rotting vegetation is intoxicating. The drizzling rain looks like a sheer
curtain draping the tall trees in the finest silk. My shirt and hair are soaked.
Tiny beads of rain trickle down my face, cooling my neck and chest. I take a
few photographs – nature is alive with shades of luminous greens, yellows, and chocolaty
browns. A few white and yellow flowers in the middle of the marsh look like lost
hibiscus. The lotus leaves are a luscious shade of green.
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