The cold November wind roars by spitting trace amounts of snow. Most of the fall color has been stripped away by Old Man Winter’s icy breath. By chance I was able to make a trip to the Salmon Run area of Summersville Lake. Here in area only accessible to me during winter pool I gaze across the water and consider the landscape that once was. A flood control lake such as this is almost an aquatic desert. The stumps of a forest long gone rest on stone and muck like tombstones. The discarded Christmas trees dot the landscape behind me on what was once a park like meadow.
Before me lays the remaining essence of the lake. Within its depths small country lanes cross a murky landscape of abandoned foundations left by those who tamed a rugged wilderness. The bridge stretches across the moody skys like an angel’s highway going from mountain to mountain. And yet here in this melancholy domain of the dark months there is peace and solitude. A place where one can escape from the tick of a clock and imposing thoughts of the outside world. Occasionally I hear the calls the crows reminding me that this is their domain until Spring when the new light is strong and life awakens once more.
My annual pilgrimage to this particular place has become another marker in my natural calendar. At the time of this writing it’s only 4 weeks and 5 days until the sun awakens and begins to push back the shadows. This is point when the forest sleeps and renews itself for the splendor of Spring. This is the season for mankind to enjoy the steam from a thermos of coffee and began to plan for gardens, tinker in shops and enjoy the warmth of the hearth with loved ones. It is a time to draw stories from the depths of imagination and send an inner light into the world. Dreams are made in the downtime of the dark months and it’s from those dreams we shape the reality of our lives. And with that final thought I must end this post.
Good night friends and be blessed throughout your days.
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