An early morning call and a snow day gift preempt the incoming ice storm. The clouds hang heavy and low and the air is sharply cold.
A pretty wooded surprise, Love Park is hidden behind the chaos of Manchester Road.
A narrow trail winds up the ridge between two picnic shelters. Even with the background drone of traffic, it’s alive with the chatter and chirp of of endless birds flitting between the branches and the clatter of a woodpecker high in a tree.
The trail grows damp as I climb and begins to freeze. Roots and stones cross the path, although fallen logs have been sawed through and cleared off the path. I step carefully, suddenly aware of how isolated I really am, in spite of the highway nearby.
A second short trail, connecting the restrooms and ball field, is full of it’s own surprises. Winter berry color pops within the tangle of grey twigs, and mushrooms line a fallen limb. A small wooden bridge spans a not quite frozen creek, that swirls and splashes over limbs and stones.
A few minutes to write at the edge of the stream, and it’s time to drift back home, to watch the lowering clouds sputter their sleet from the safety of my deck.
Rambling ... 