By Caitlin Kelly
It had been weeks, maybe months, since I’d walked our reservoir path, the reservoir to the left and hilly woods to the right. I’ve been walking it for decades, in every season, and know it well. But there are spots I’ve still not explored, close to the water’s edge, like the moss colony I found this weekend.
In winter, the trees are bare, except for one species whose stiff, dried leaves — a pale biscuit beige — stick straight out as if in a breeze. I spied many nests and two squirrels but the silence was absolute, the only sound a tiny creek.
There’s a busy road circling the reservoir so there is some traffic noise, but no birds or animals now.
There are plenty of big flat rocks to rest on or sit on and a few benches at various points to sit and enjoy the view.
It was cold! Thirty degrees Fahrenheit, plus a 16 mph wind.
This anorak — which I’ve worn for 20 years — is the best garment ever: warm, windproof, water-resistant, elastic cuffs, a hood, multiple pockets. Even after gaining a lot of weight since I bought it, it still fits, thank heaven. I was absolutely cosy, plus lined wool hat and lined suede gloves.
It felt so good to fill my lungs for an hour with fresh cold air.
To be alone.
To sit in silence.
To look closely at natural beauty, which always soothes and refreshes me.
To see how different the familiar appears in every season.
To savor such a respite a five minute drive from home.
To know it hasn’t changed in decades and likely won’t, even though our suburban village is starting to add a lot more density and buildings, to our dismay. Some will basically wreck our fantastic Hudson river shoreline, so every unchanged vista matters even more to me.