Walking in the woods at Winant Park on Sunday I hear all kinds of sounds. As we enter the trails near the church on Pleasant Street there is a loud ripping sound. I look up and see the top of a tree come crashing to the ground. I half expect to see some sort of bobcat or mountain lion run away, like it is high up on a tree limb and its weight causes the tree to crumble. Winnie runs toward the sound, not a great thing in case there is a wild animal but no animal runs away and we continue on our hike.
Black flies are still hovering which is obnoxious for this time of year. Geez. Go away. I swat the flies as I hobble over the thousands of acorns that litter the trail this year. I don’t remember so many on the trails and roads compared to last year at this time. We hiked as much last year as this year and I simple don’t remember them. And I definitely don’t remember the sounds from them falling in the woods.
The sound of the acorns falling is so loud for such a small nut.
When you live in the same place for several seasons you start to see patterns such as the sun rising in a different spot or the trail start to be less socked in when the trees lose their leaves. When I lived in Killington, Vermont I watched and recorded how spring changed into summer and then later into fall. I noticed everything, wrote about every detail from hiking the same trail, Trail 17, every day with my yellow lab Abbey. Later when I lived in Granby, Colorado I watched the seasons change from hiking the same mountain trail behind my house for seven years with Abbey and Daisy. All the details never seemed changed from year to year.
The only reason I can guess that I didn’t notice the acorns last year is age; I’m getting older and don’t remember as much.
That’s why I will now take my journal with me on every hike and take detailed notes again. I don’t want to miss a thing.
