The river is high and spooky still on the drive along the bluff; a shining mirrored glass of cliffs and skeletal trees.
The trail at first is freshly graveled and silty soft. It gently sinks when I stop for a picture of crusted snow in a crevice of a tree, a hint of the mush to come.
It’s starting to feel almost warm, and I’m reconsidering my thick winter coat as we climb the stone steps and the narrow trail to the top of the ridge. But it the breeze is blowing and it’s gently cool under mare’s tail skies at the top. Brilliant sunshine sets off the brush in glowing bronze.
From the overlook deck, frozen backwaters sparkle and flash, explaining the stillness of the river.
It’s a thickly muddy slide back down the river view trail. More foot traffic? A couple more hours of warming sun? A hidden run off stream? I have no idea why this side is so much muddier, but the best strategy seemed to be a scrambling acceptance of scrapping and laundry to come.
Sunset glow and clouding skies shift the pre-spring breezes back to mid-winter chill.
Rambling ... 