As September 2020 dries and dries here in New England, the world squirms in discomfort at myriad new, largely unwanted events. We pine, even as we separate from each other in our theories of why, who, what, what next, what was. History, just current events yesterday, a minute ago, has as many eyes, as many versions as there are sentient beings on this planet.
The weeping Gray Birches out front are dropping golden leaves like dust. The Concord River, cutting through downtown to meet up with the Merrimack River, is barely a body of water. I watched a great blue heron the other day slogging through the muck that is the bed of the river where two canals usually drain into it. The heron had to work to raise each foot to move forward in search of errant fish. For 20 minutes I watched, and saw no captures, just slog, slog, stop; slog, slog, stop.
I am sorry to be writing such a blue blog post. I am sorry that there is cause to.
But another impression, oddly heartening: yesterday I was pedaling along a major state numbered roadway (3A) also known, in the area I was pedaling, as Middlesex Road. It carries constant vehicular traffic including many trucks. It is not the pleasantest route to bicycle, but along it are occasional surprises that bring delight. One, well, one was an old cemetery, perhaps 90 feet wide by 50 feet deep, surrounded by a stone wall. I walked my bicycle through an open gate straight through to the 50 feet to another open gate that let out onto a small woodland. I leaned the bicycle against a sugar maple and tiptoed into this woodland. I got about 30 feet in and stopped. Several cardinals, a finch, and I think a robin were talking, calling from different corners within the woodland ahead of me. And beneath their treetop calls, the sugar maple, pine, ash and shrub tree woods were a silent breath.
Eight feet behind me, consistently audible, was the road traffic. But before me, and surrounding me was this woodland breathing.
It was lovely.
Do you know, that is all I want to say today.
Thank you for reading.