The Woods

   A mile down the road from us, bordered in part by a small river, is a magical place of glacial rock covered in moss and ferns,

ponds full of quacking frogs,

trails and rivulets which pass through rock,

small caves,

stone walls,

forests of mountain laurel,

tipis,

and miles of quiet unpopulated trails.

  I take the walk to at least the edge of these woods everyday because there is something for me in those great rocks, and though I don't fully understand it, never do they fail to surprise me by their grandness.
  So far I have seen these woods through two strong seasons, and now, slowly, spring is making its tread felt. The moss is growing taller and greener and further covering the rocks and fallen trees

as the ice and snow did last month.
   Masses of frog eggs cling in slippery clumps near the surface of the still water and the woods ring with the cacophony of their parents.
   It is a wonderful place to walk if you miss the dog you used to live beside and walked with everyday (that's you Pumpkin, in case you were wondering) because here there is company everywhere - pileated woodpeckers hammering away, the wind rustling through empty branches and the musical chatter of the moving water. And now finally the rocks are warming beneath the sun so everywhere is the perfect picnic spot. Bring a basket and let's go.

   Happy Birthday Pat! I look forward to a summer walk together.