I walked barefoot for an hour, meandering. Two little chipmunks came out from some fallen trees to say hello. They were camera shy because they hadn’t had time to go to the beauty salon this week. Deep back into the brush and trees, there were some Northern Parulas. (Sounds like a salad topping.) The males were brilliant green and yellow. 

It could not have possibly been more beautiful back there. 65°, sunlight breaking through the trees intermittently, and all manner of birds almost entirely hidden -but singing and chirping like 8-year-old girls at their first church recital. 

And I can’t write about it without mentioning how brilliant the colors are again for me. Even the 12 different nuances of green. 

The creeks are of course colder than an accountant’s heart but the numbness afterward was refreshing.