… for a short walk.
I don’t like thinking about how little time I have left here in Plummers Hollow on this trip, and want to make the most of every moment.
This is the closest I get to the bears that, yes, shit in the woods. This less pungent leaving is fur caught on the wooden pole of the power line which is a favourite back-rubbing, clawing and general display spot. I’m convinced there’s more hair there than when we last walked past, Dave contends that while it’s entirely possible that bears are hibernating lightly in this warm winter and could be ambling around I am wrong about a further accumulation. Usually almost immediately after I leave hordes of bears amble around the property, sashaying on the drive in broad daylight and I get to sit in London and see the photographs.
An undisputed change since our last walk in this direction is the toppling of two trees in the “vernal” pond. No longer just a feature of spring the water logging has caused these trees to die and a recent strong wind toppled them over. Both managed somehow to fall into a crotch on the same nearby tree. Unfortunately it is near the bench placed for optimum enjoyment of the view and the top of at least one of the fallers broke off and crashed onto the bench below. Repairs are required
In the twilight quiet of the spruce grove on a deep bed of needles this white-tailed deer is changing too. For some reason I love the process of decay and dissolution, probably because I find it compellingly beautiful, a reminder of the inevitability of change and the promise of renewal and regeneration.
Walking back to the house I was swept with wonder and gratitude that Dave can ever tear himself away from this extraordinary place. And also that I am able to share it.