A Frosty Morning Walk

On Wednesday, May 13th, I awoke to the bright eastern predawn glow through the french doors of my second floor bedroom. The soft light gently waking me to a view of thick mist hanging over the meadow. A few minutes later with my eyes fully awake and taking in the quiet that was clearly visible, I quickly rose, dressed, grabbed my camera and jacket and left for a morning photo shoot.

Off to Ruffingham Meadow. The water was like glass and the mist hung softly near the shoreline. A perfect reflection of the tree line was mirrored on either side of the mist and there wasn't a sound. The birds were still huddled in their nest keeping their newly hatched babies warm.

According to the thermometer in the car, it was thirty four degrees. I drove further down the road, parked the car, donned my boots and walked into the woods, one of my favorite places to be. The sun was now above the horizon and the frost on the new leaves, wild strawberries plants, and fiddlehead ferns was beginning to melt. Bending down to get close up photos of the ice crystals, I could watch as the tender fiddlehead sprouts wilted as the sun warmed them, they were doomed, sad, but all part of natures way.

The birds began to sing their morning songs, chirping away, flittering here and there, looking for tasty morsels to bring back to the fledglings anxiously awaiting their buggy breakfast. I walked past a beaver lodge, and obviously they were sound asleep, there wasn't a ripple anywhere to be seen. I climbed over the hill and through a wild raspberry patch, the thorns catching my jeans,. I had to stop and carefully pick the thorny branches out of my leg, ouch! I thought about a place I used to go to bow hunt. A natural rock formation at the top of the hill that formed a perfectly comfortable arm chair. I remember leaving a padded heated seat, wrapped in a plastic trash bag there years ago and wondered if it was still there. When I arrived at the spot, the rock formation was still there. The heated seat was gone, and trees and bushes obscured the view of the swamp and field that I had so long ago watched as the white tailed deer grazed in the early morn.

Looking to the north over the tops of the brush, I could see the tall dead tree on the next ridge, I was excited to get there. Climbing over rocks, dead trees, and through the thick alder clumps, I found a small deer trail. I followed the trail across the bottom land, sometimes having to circumnavigate the swampy area and then take a right, heading up the hill, through an area that had burned about ten years ago. The fire had started by a lightening strike and with luck, the smoke had been spotted early by a neighbor and the fire department, quickly extinguished it with Indian tanks. Although there were still signs of the fire, new growth was now about five feet tall and lichen was growing on the dead falls.
Reaching the tall dead tree at the top of the ridge, I climbed on the huge granite rock, with a flat top that sits to the left of the dead tree. I've spent many hours on that rock taking in the view to the south east. I could see the Northport and Camden hills from there. On many occasions I've camped there alone, under the full moon in two feet of snow and had my morning tea sitting on that granite rock, streaked with quartz, watching the sunrise, contemplating just how very lucky I am, just to be.............alone, in the Maine woods, my sanctuary.