By Caitlin Kelly
When it’s bitterly cold for long weeks, it’s easy to stop going out for a walk. But then cabin fever sets in…
These are woods near our home, in a town 25 miles north of New York City, with a paved trail a mile long that runs beside a reservoir, whose landmarks — officially, watermarks, I guess — can include several white swans, enormous flocks of geese who rest on the ice mid-migration, and, in the summer, multiple small black turtles and a cormorant who stands on a rock to dry out his wings.
In the winter, though, the woods are silent. I can only hear planes overhead and traffic circling the reservoir and the gurgling of a stream. No scurrying squirrels or chipmunks or birdsong.
It’s a more austere world, the remaining leaves bleached, bare branches etched against the sky, thick fungi crowding a log.
Here are some images, full of subtle beauty:
No idea why that little structure is there!
Love the reflections
That little bit of down, memory of a bird…
The patterns of the ice were amazing — shifting with the water’s movements