Woods Walk

Last Sunday was field, this one forest. J will lead the way, waiting patiently while I lay on the path taking photos.

Though we head towards it, the sun descends the hill ahead of us, filtering through the hemlock groves where our feet crunch twigs and tiny pine cones.

Summer's woodland wildflowers are more subtle than spring's.

We scare up a toad hunting the damp carpet of fallen maple leaves.

And though it's nothing like last year, a few mushrooms rise up out of it too.

Some larger than others.

The flower has long faded, but the leaves of this trillium are impressive.

I have no legitimate reason to dread the week ahead, except for the feeling of being trapped inside while the fleeting days of summer rush past.

Knowing that soon enough these bright green beech leaves will blanch to white, twist in autumn's sharp wind, shiver through winter, like me.