A Witness to Change

The snow was soft, but not slushy.  It was just right walking through the woods our footing firm.  First the gloves came off and then I slung my down jacket around my waist as it was a 40 degree day in January.  A leisurely Sunday morning, we walked and talked.  Our chattiness ceased each time we paused and then breathed deeply to take in the surroundings.  The stream once cascading over the rocks was now frozen in time.  A tree possibly hundreds of years old, at least what's left of it, a skeleton stands hollow as footprints pressed in the snow skirt around it.   Cedar colored sawdust lines the base of the tree. Vertical cracks and holes show its' age and evidence of invasion.  We stop in wonder.

Once cars motored along this route, but now the terrain has changed over decades.  Water flows in different directions making the road impossible to pass through by car.  By foot and over time, I note how the once emptied pond has begun to fill, but not abundantly like last year.  When young, my kids would sling their ice skates over their shoulder and walk  a mile on this Breakneck Road into the woods just to glide along the expanse of ice.  However, on this day the ice is hardly noticeable.  

This same walk, day after day, week after week and month after month gives opportunities to record subtle changes over time.  The 60 mile per hour winds pounded the down east coast of Maine just shortly after our Sunday morning walk.  I wonder how many trees were uprooted or lay splintered, littering the path I walked earlier?  On my next walk what will I notice?  I hope my eyes will be open in wonder; a witness to changes.