This last weekend I enjoyed puttering around woods and waterfalls with my grandparents and J. We spent time observing full spring creeks (rivers?) as they churned over and down rocky beds. And exposed cedar roots, raw and blood-red, holding the river-bank separate from the cold water. And much moss. Moss with starry looking fingers-extended, soft cushion-like moss, moss joined to interesting rocks, moss on live and decomposing trees. And “driftwood”, or whatever one calls water-smoothed wood left on creek banks after the water has receded from its highest point. And ferns, new ferns springing up, and old ferns turned with leaves into a paper forest floor, pressed by who knows how many feet of snow for a long, long time.
We also watched for birds. And wondered whether half mud-disguised tracks might be the tracks of a wolf. And drove on pretty washed out back roads. And I took photos, as well as videos narrated with my cheesy voice.
It was a good time.