My breathing
is labored. I have not been out of the house in two weeks - the flu really sapped
my energy. The hard to discern trail winds gently downhill all the way to the
railroad bridge that crosses the river. The return will be much harder, going
uphill. I watch my steps carefully - the twisted tree roots bulge out of the
ground but are hidden underneath a thick cover of dead leaves.
The water
level is low - rain has been very scarce this winter. We can see the sandy
beach with fantastic shapes of driftwood, empty shells, and dried algae. In
summertime I would not dare venture on the beach – there are too many snakes
for comfort and the cotton mouth is everywhere. I step on the fine yellow sand
and take my shoes off. It is soft and velvety but cold. The water looks like it’s
covered by fine webs.
A tree's snarled
roots are hanging half in the air and half solidly dug into the soil. The power
of water has ravaged the shore and bit a large chunk of earth from the bank where
the tree had grown. The roots are covered with barnacle-like fungi. Two trunk
knots look like peering eyes. I expect Hobbits to jump out of the fog.
We cross
three bridges overgrown with moss before my lungs tire - we must return. I hear
the distant whistle of the freight train approaching the bridge. Underneath, a
lone fisherman in a grey jacket blends with the background as he stands still
holding the rod. He seems to disappear in the fog. I am not sure what he is
fishing for - the river is infested with snake heads some weighing as much as
18 pounds. Who knows who dumped this invasive species into the Potomac River but
he did a great disservice to the native wildlife and fish.
On the way
back, the climbing trail is more difficult. A primitive bench carved from the
trunk of a fallen tree offers a few minutes of rest. The silence is comforting.
I hear in the distance the cry of an owl and the chatter of small birds. A few
squirrels dart from trees to the ground in search of acorns.
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