Photo: Ileana Johnson 2019 |
It is a cold
and dreary day of 43 degrees F, and the steady rain cloaks the thick woods into
a curtain of fog-like mist which elongates the bare branches of the tallest
trees. One solitaire evergreen adds a spot of dark green to the tall and orange
grasses covering the ground of the forest.
The birds,
normally darting about and chirping happily are nowhere to be seen, save for
the occasional red cardinal or a blue jay. High up on a tree I spot two eagles
resting in the haze. Even the deer, foxes, and squirrels are taking shelter.
The woods seem deserted of life.
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2019 |
Nature, even
in its dormant and rain-soaked state, surrounds me with a beautiful calm and
peace. I walk carefully to the pier that stretches far enough into the Potomac
that part of it actually belongs to the state of Virginia and the rest belongs
to the state of Maryland. The division
of territory is so strange.
My boots
sink in murky ground until I reach the wooden walkway to the pier. The sandy
beach is saturated with water and covered in dead leaves and branches carried
by the rain. The brown water is overflowing its banks and I can see the furious
current in the middle bubbling like a boiling cauldron. Should anybody fall into
this river right now, it will be unlikely that they would survive the powerful
water run.
The river is
obscured by a blanket of grey; the sky and the water are an indistinguishable dreary
mist from far away. Tall grasses and the occasional evergreen mark God’s perfect
painting with natural colors, light orange and dark green.
This time last
year the river was crystal clear and blue, frozen solid for a few days, then melted
into thick chunks and sheets of ice slowly pushed away from the middle towards
the shore by a slower current. If the frigid bluish orange sun hit the ice just
right, it sparkled like a chest full of precious diamonds.
The ice had
been so thick, blue herons and a few daring fishermen were bold enough to walk
on it far away from the shore looking for a break in the ice to fish. In
thinner ice spots closer to the banks, the current was moving underneath with
determination, trying to crack the ice. The crunching sound underfoot left
prints in the frozen ground and crushed the water snails strewn across the sand.
My rubber
boots are leaving mud tracks on the wet pavement. A few daring sea gulls flock
boldly on the wet asphalt close to me and around the marina where boats
normally dock, unafraid of my presence. I take in the crisp and humid air and
photograph the forest through raindrops on my camera lens.
Marvelous 'bleak mid-winter' descriptions and photos.
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