ice crystal baleen and international orange

So today I did one of two things planned: I hiked.

The coffee shop may happen tomorrow, we'll see.

I put on my bright orange vest and hiked up to the first overlook, much farther than I expected.

I left late and the sky was filled with low clouds and soft yellow light.

At the base of the trail, I watched my feet on the slippery oak leaves, the glimmers of ice on rock, and crunched my way across ice that pushes upwards, stalagmites, opening the soil and raising it-- amazing really. In some places this ice is so high and so uniform, it looks like baleen, striated curtains. I remember thinking this every year, rediscovering it, surprised by the power of the formation of crystals to move the earth.

As I climbed higher, I started to look up and out. The light was so soft. The hillsides are nearly totally bare of leaves, even the oaks are nekkid this year, only a few held any leaves at all. So the woods were open and the feeling as I made my way up was one of openness too- sky and empty branches. I loved looking out across through the woods, seeing so much sky even in the thick of it.

I made my way slowly, honored the budded blueberry bushes that are thinking about next year's fruit...

I stayed long enough to breathe, to thank my body for the journey thus far, to really look out, to see the familiar lump and roll of the land and hillsides as they fall away and rise across the little valley, and take note that the ice on the bog is actually visible from up there....

I knew Della was safely taken care of, and I did not feel that I needed to rush. But oh, I missed her. So coming home felt warmer even than usual. And I got home before dark.

I wrote to my mom to tell her of my adventure, and I just got this amazing, beautiful reply:

and there I was peering through the trees knowing that the
sky was glorious but only seeing fringes of the gold, peach
and slight grey and white and pale blue and and and....
but you were IN it !! How perfect.
so glad for your mini adventures.
xox momma

And I wonder: What will I write to Della?