Yesterday I walked a long way on the Blackstone Canal. It is a state park very close to where I live. The canal runs right beside the Blackstone River. The walkway is an elevated ramp between the two. The canal is no longer in use and its water does not flow. The river meanders slowly beside it. There are fields and trees and wetlands. It must be a canoer's paradise. I sat and watched the river with its mudbanks and channels, assortment of trees and skunk cabbage, and currents that seem to reverse themselves at points and actually flow back into themselves. It was very quiet. I met only one person on the whole walk. There are wild violets everywhere. There was one log floating in the canal that had a dozen turtles on it, lazing in the morning sun. I think that some of them were red-bellied turtles. I heard few bird calls during the walk and that surprised me. Only the sound of woodpeckers delving for breakfast as apparent. That huge expanse of wetlands should be alive with birds. Can the courting season be over? That would explain the absense of calls. Once pairing is done, the males, like human males, stop trumpeting their virility and settle down to providing food and nesting materials. No more racing around in Camaros with the top down and the radio blaring. No more crazy hats, muscle shirts, and motorcycles. It is time to get down to the real reason for living. I think that life is like that river, moving slowly through the obstacles in its inexorable journey to the sea. Returning to the sea, the birthplace of all life. That concept is somehow reassuring. The moisture arises from the sea, falls to the land, and eventually returns to its place of origin. It brings new meaning to the phrase "the fall of Man". I will try to walk there again today. The image of the violets rests gently on my mind and I would see them again. I think I will stop and smell the violets.
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Yesterday I walked a long way on the Blackstone Canal. It is a state park very close to where I live. The canal runs right beside the Blackstone River. The walkway is an elevated ramp between the two. The canal is no longer in use and its water does not flow. The river meanders slowly beside it. There are fields and trees and wetlands. It must be a canoer's paradise. I sat and watched the river with its mudbanks and channels, assortment of trees and skunk cabbage, and currents that seem to reverse themselves at points and actually flow back into themselves.
It was very quiet. I met only one person on the whole walk. There are wild violets everywhere. There was one log floating in the canal that had a dozen turtles on it, lazing in the morning sun. I think that some of them were red-bellied turtles. I heard few bird calls during the walk and that surprised me. Only the sound of woodpeckers delving for breakfast as apparent. That huge expanse of wetlands should be alive with birds. Can the courting season be over? That would explain the absense of calls. Once pairing is done, the males, like human males, stop trumpeting their virility and settle down to providing food and nesting materials. No more racing around in Camaros with the top down and the radio blaring. No more crazy hats, muscle shirts, and motorcycles. It is time to get down to the real reason for living.
I think that life is like that river, moving slowly through the obstacles in its inexorable journey to the sea. Returning to the sea, the birthplace of all life. That concept is somehow reassuring. The moisture arises from the sea, falls to the land, and eventually returns to its place of origin. It brings new meaning to the phrase "the fall of Man".
I will try to walk there again today. The image of the violets rests gently on my mind and I would see them again. I think I will stop and smell the violets.
This was beautiful, Dad. Thank you for sharing your walk.
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