bank of the riverpark 1

First section of work on a new painting. This will eventually be the marshy bank of a section of the riverpark that I live on, last spring when the crocuses were all in bloom. I was happy enough while painting this afternoon, but now it all seems a bit childish and unrefined.



Mostly this is blocking and the first bottom layer of color. The near black area is the water itself, through which runs a log. The horizon area is currently a bit of a hassle. Instead of a brighter distant horizon, this is supposed to be a clearing in the woods and a far bank of trees. There isn't an actual section of blue sky. But right now it looks more like a field of wheat and pine trees, which isn't the direction in which I want this to go.

river park

Series of things seen on a run in the river park on which I live. The water is polluted enough that you are forbidden to swim or fish here, and I have never seen many water birds. There are deer though, as you will see below, some fish and some turtles. These were all taken with my cell phone camera, so they are not very sharp.



The river park was a very old canal, and there are sections of the stone retaining wall which still remain. In some places where the wall has completely fallen, the bank is being eaten away at a good clip. Eventually, in a decade or so, this will all be a broad swamp again.



I had never seen this in seed before, but this is an arrow leaf seed cone. It is the cousin of the skunk cabbage, whose flower I blogged about last year, and also the jack-in-the-pulpit. It doesn't go to seed in the northern States, like New York or Massachusetts, until October, or so the online botanists tell me. Odd considering that I've always observed their spring flowers to bloom only three weeks behind ours.



At first I thought this might be mile-a-minute vine because of its triangular leaves and pale green color, but looking around online, it seems that the infamous m-a-m vine has to have barbed hooks. This vine does not, and does not seem as invasive. So this must be some sort of cousin...



In the northern section of the river park, where it is flatter and there are fewer granite ledges, there are small clearings of these flowers. They are whitish, or else an extremely pale shade of pink, and they attract a swarm of very lively white butterflies, who could not abide my being near them. They had no scent and a very hard stem, which must be why they have survived as wildflowers in civilization.



And this is the fruit of a mayflower. They have large walnut sized white flowers in the spring. Supposedly, if you hide the fruit of the mayflower under your pillow, you will dream of your true love.



I ran right up on two deer before I saw them. At first I only saw the one right by the side of the path, who is only about 20 feet away. I looked around for any others, but didn't see the other deer until this one turned its own head to look at its friend. We looked at each other for a few minutes before they forded the river to the other side. They made a tremendous splash for all their absolute silence in passing through the brush.



Just at the end of the trail by the dam, there are hedges of what I think is feverfew, or Tanacetum parthenium. I am not sure if this stuff grows wild here, or if this has escaped from some one's garden. For all that it is very pretty, it goes largely ignored by the local flying denizens.

they exist

A visitor to my butterfly bushes....











... is a hummingbird bee, or just "hummer bee." He paid me no mind as long as I just took pictures but got extremely aggressive when I used the flash. Then he would fly at me and collide with my face, even if I had already dropped the camera away. He also took to chasing off the carpenter bees, which is amazing as they can sting and he can't at all. I do not know if he also chased away the small moths, but they did not visit the bush for the few minutes he was there feeding. Or she perhaps. Amazing though how many people tell me they have never heard of or seen one before, and they've lived here all their lives.

man in the forest

A hard rain last night left branches scattered over the grass and the water as deep as dark. A few days ago I discovered a map that showed how to reach the trail on the other side of the river. I went down to the road and crossed under the concrete dam, and up onto the grassy bank. Brick steps led up and over the top of the waterworks and into the forest. The trees where I usually walk are birch and ash and beech. I can see across from here the trails that I know so much more. The earth is full of slate and rises up to block out the afternoon sun, leaving the earth in shadow.



On this side of the river there is mountain laurel and the remnants of dead oak groves falling into the water. Running juniper covered one rise on the bank like a shawl. Hidden in one corner of the shore is a small sandy shoal, which is a place where running water deposits sediments because a shift in the current forces the water to slow to the point where it can carry the sand no further. The old ashes of a fire and burnt Corona bottles were there. More of those strange flowers. And above the banks and dead oaks themselves rose the high ridge, the hard granite boulders, and gorgeous black tulepos.



Two centuries or three centuries old. Protected no doubt because to fell them would be to shatter and destroy them on the granite forest floor. And they were in bloom with pink flowers the size of your hand, that washed out entire against the light in the sky. Blush on an empty tree.



The open expanse of the river allows the sun to fall on the shore here, where there is a riot of moss, and clusters of deep-rooted and velvet-leafed plantains. A thin grass with a pale pink flower that held it's petals closed against themselves like a mitten holding yellow corn. And clusters of a dark green rounded leaf plant with butter yellow flowers, eager and large as a kiss.



I do not know their names. The prints of dogs I did recognize, from the many sizes of them that passed through. And where the moss or the leaves did not cover the soft earth, the sharp imprints of last night's deer. Fearless, up and down the winding paths, they could be followed through the park, up along the sparking mica trails and then plunging down to the river and out onto the silt to reach the edge of water. Hoof prints you could lay your fingers whole inside.



Small deer so close to the city. Not too small for antlers. And not too small for poachers either. One must have laid in wait, hidden in the fallen dead oak and rustling thorns. Trekked in from the public parking lot. Listened to the clatter of deer hooves coming down the stony ridge. Noble hunter.



He must have stood no taller than I just a week ago. Now his eyes are gone and his open mouth is empty. His hooves remain and are smaller than my hands. His bones also, and even where they are twisted from his carcass, none are broken. No wounded deer who crawled down to the water so far from the road to die. The antlers are all that man took away.

strange flower

Walked to Trader Joe's through the river park, among the birch whose leaves are the skeletons of the color bronze. All of the rocks in the path make it hard to look up at the world, forcing you to stop when you want to see.



I should not say a river, but a lingering memory of rain.



There are leaves coming and this is the promise of them.



And hidden in the leaves of a dead year, a flower called strange.

wonder

over the night, the finest ice crystals fell over the forest. thin blades of grass poked up out of the white cover, and the holly wore white mittens. here the cattails at the edge of a lake lay flattened and battered, a graceful cluster of hollow brown skeletons of a year gone.



a wind continued to blow through the woods where it lifted off the sheer powder from the hollies. the ice crystals were so fine and pure, they became illuminated by the shafts of sunlight, forming a swirling golden path between the trees. you could hear the ice crystals as they crashed violently into each other, a thousand far off bells.



across the forest floor, the green winter life swelled up out of the snow. here is a runner plant whose roots are so connected that you can pull up all by one. tiny and miniature trees leftover from a world of other plants of long ago, holding on as the giants of the newer world sleep.

ice storm

snow.. a most remarkable occurance. first in large fat flakes, as large as candies and sounding like cat's paws on the trees and grass. swiftly though, the line of the storm came north and the snow transformed into frozen rain, cat's running on claws over everything. and then the cold, the real cold entered into every tree and clearing and body. the birds have taken to the wind with their chattering protest, fleeing the early darkness.