Last Sunday I woke up, and after taking care of animals and myself, before any other responsibilities,kissed my husband and told him I needed to take off. With my camera. And I would be back in awhile.
I had a little bit of energy. And it just kind of hit me. The need to be alone. Not even walking a dog in the beautiful paths or streams or forest.
And so I drove up to Hadley Fields, where I had not been for a while. High up, protected wildlife sanctuary area. People raising money and then buying up farmland, little by little, keeping just ahead of the developers.
Far off in one field was a turkey tom, a hen , and some babies. There was a murmur of starlings circling about, that I know lives at one of the local dairy farms all winter long. Plenty of protection and food.
I drove by a small area on the side of the curved dirt road, that usually has piles of dumped furniture and garbage and crap. But it was clean now. And there was a new sign posted, protected wildlife sanctuary. Nothing could make me happier.
I pulled in, cut the car, and got out, and caught sight of a wildlife path. Followed it down a steep hill of the woods, to a stream far below. Carefully stepping over prickly blackberry bushes and wild roses, making my way down down through the vibrant green and yellow beach leaves,
Down to the stream below.
There was an inlet with water moving into the stream. Oily and copper yellow material polluted.
Later, I traced the origin to a number of farms with a run off going that direction. So who knows. Too bad.
But there I was, far down below the road. As the stream wandered by. As the green leaves of overhanging tree limbs were reflected beneath them, in the water.
It's always something to come upon a place that isn't frequented. No longer can I hike far into mountains or forest. But I can do the small adventures. Sit down on the Sunday morning. Watch the living things that frequent the area. Listen. Smell. Watch the stream.
Gaze at the ever changing patterns of small waves and water movements around rocks, as the current makes its way around the bend. Past obstructions of fallen trees and branches. What is more peaceful than this?
On the way back up the hill, I marveled at the cushioned earth beneath my feet, created by thousands of years of things living in seasons; beings passing by, and things dying.Building up this layer of soil. As I made my way back up to the road.
Far above, a great blue heron flew by. Silent. On their way to one place or another, maybe for Sunday brunch.
In the roadside drainage areas, the Blue Vervain and the Joe Pye Weed were drying now, letting their seeds fall where they may, to grow once again next year.
Such beauty, everywhere you turn.
I walked up the dirt road apiece, down into small valley, with the stream passing beneath. And up into the entrance of the field, where maybe several hundred starlings were visiting.
Chattering. I took a few steps into the field, and they began being disturbed; flying here and there. So I decided to leave them to their morning. Turned and walked away.
Back up the curving dirt road, the statuesque Maples alight with fall colors, the field still rich green, waiting for stealthy visiting dear to pass by, for the especially delicious lunch.
Just a taste. Of peace. Quiet. A bit of wilderness. No humans. That's all we need, every once in a while.
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