The drenching storms that caused such havoc through the night, were gone by morning’s first light. A clean and freshly showered landscape has always had a positive effect on my spirits and on this day, I knew I just had to go for a walk up to Brightwood Park, my favorite “Green Acres” reservation.
Having been replenished by several inches of new precipitation, the lake and its denizens seemed to be rejoicing, as Bandit and I followed our usual unpaved path into the woods and around the lake. The lake glistened, and trees along the bank rustled softly in the cool, refreshing breezes. As we crossed over the wooden bridge that spanned the tiny waterfall and out-flowing brook, I couldn’t help but notice that the usually dry bed was now a rushing rivulet. After narrowly avoiding a family of deer that leapt in single file across the path in front of us, we happened upon a man and his young grandson, who were fishing at the lake’s edge. I asked them if they had caught anything. Grandpa answered:
“Yes, we caught a good time!”
This photograph was taken a few yards further up the path and (along with a little sonnet) seemed an apropos response to this week’s Photo Friday Challenge: Trees.
Calm breezes waft a-glistening ‘cross the pond,
With whispered rustling through the breathing trees,
The evening rain, so drenching and profound,
receded; in its wake the brook flows free.
No better time with leash in hand to be
at Brightwood Lake, reclaim it’s sylvan rite,
In balance, troutlings leap and dive with glee,
As little boys wait, patient, for a bite.
Though mid-storm terrors wracked and wrecked the night,
I knew this day would follow, quashing strife,
Because, as always, day brings golden light,
And showered clean, the woods renew with life.
Swirling storms leave calm in aftermath,
Compelled, I’m beckoned back to woodsy paths.