Friday morning it was 7 degrees Fahrenheit down at the river at Bar Mills and I was drawn to stop by the combination of river smoke and the ice frosted trees it floated through along the raging waters edge.
I turned down the little driveway between the two bridges that leads to a fenced in transformer near the waterfall and power station, and left my car behind. . .
. . . to enter a magical sparkling crystal forest.
The air was filled with minute ice crystals that were only visible as they floated through the rays of the sun tracing a path between the branches of trees along the snow to my feet. I don't have the technical expertise nor the equipment to capture that magic on film I'm afraid.
Nor can I bring you the thundering of the water rushing past in an icy torrent. I have no way of really showing you the fascinating contradiction I sensed listening to the deadly serious threat of that freezing roaring water and the tranquil sensation of standing in the rays of the sun watching the slowly dancing ice flakes sparkle past, continually fading in and out of vision in the floating waves of fog.
There were distinct rabbit tracts disappearing into this thick tangle of alders.
It was impossible to keep track of time. It was the ache in my un-gloved fingers that finally dragged me back to reality and urged me toward the waiting car. I was late for work.
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