Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Down the road, some trees who live on the water

I drive past this stand every time I go out to the property. It's like a scattering of islands and each island is inhabited by a tree.

Swamp tea

What was dry two months ago, is now a land of puddles. Too late, I realize there are little frogs underfoot. I try not to step on any but then those squishy noises: mud or ...?

Victims of gravity

Wouldn't want to rake that.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Needles and thorns

Wild rose thorns and sharp needles on scrub guard the land. At the end of the first day of trail marking when I didn't know enough to bring along a pair of gloves, my hands looked like they'd lost a fight with an ornery alley cat.


In the summer the grass stood tall and swayed in the wind. In the autumn, the grass, soft, fat and still green from the generous November rain, has fallen into big bundles and so I sit down on them, close my eyes and lie back. Ten thousand strands of grass keep me afloat. I hear a dog barking across the wind. I open my eyes towards the sky.