I walked down to the creek this afternoon on this sunny fall day, with blue sky and colorful leaves scattered around, some remaining on the trees. In the bare branches, I could see the nests of squirrels and birds, hidden all summer amidst thousands of leaves, but now exposed.
Several crows perched high in a tulip poplar near the creek. I walked across the log that dams the creek near the playground, and sat on my usual rock, but facing upstream this time. There are two pedestrian bridges, one over the main creek and the other over a small tributary. Their gentle arc over the water made a lovely scene.
Soggy leaves are piled up on rocks and gravel bars in the stream. The sun is low in the sky - it's just a month and a half from the year's shortest day. It's chilly, and the people coming by are dressed in jackets and hats. The playground is empty.
I notice the sound of water rushing over the dam behind me, and that I can barely make out the sound of water rushing over a small fall and rapids upstream from me. But by moving just a little - bringing my head forward perhaps a foot, I could make the sounds nearly balance.
Air is so amazing in it's ability to carry minute vibrations to my ears, like those just made by a leaf sliding down a streamside rock and falling into the creek, even while it moves, fluidly and unseen, all around me.
Upstream, water leaves a glassy-surfaced pool and runs quickly through a rocky area, creating streams of bubbles that ride the main current channels into the pool below. Reflections of cars on the parkway flash across the water upstream of the bridge.
After a while more, I rose, and crossed back over the log to head home. The crows are gone. Two families have just arrived at the playground.
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