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Summer on the river
Jul. 17th, 2004 03:47 pmToday I went walking along the Charles. There's a spot along Greenough Boulevard where an old dock used to be, but it's overgrown and unused these days. A tree fell over onto the granite steps that lead down to the river, so that its trunk rests on the top step, and you have to duck down under its branches to get close to the water. It's like a natural arch, and while the tree is dead now, you can tell from the angle of its branches that it lived for some time even after it had fallen over.
The steps themselves are warped and buckled, each a huge granite slab about eight inches thick. Time and runoff has eroded the earth beneath some of them, but they're still stable, even though they look something like the steps of a ruined temple. They lead down to a rotting wooden dock that's missing several boards; the edge of the river is shallow enough you probably wouldn't get too wet even if you fell through, but it still looks dangerous.
The fallen tree's branches (and those of the trees that grew around it) made a curtain between me and the river, and the tree itself hid me from the path along Greenough. I don't delude myself by thinking this is an undiscovered place -- the Sierra Mist cans and other litter would prove me wrong in any case -- but there's something deliciously private to it. You have to know where to look to see it, from the path or from the river.
So today I stopped there, and sat, and wrote a while, thinking about books and stories and whether there were mosquitoes here or if I was just imagining it. Boats passed by going either way, none going very fast; kayakers as well.
After a while I paused and just gazed at the river, and then at the banks to either side of me. Which was when I noticed the great blue heron not ten yards to my left.
I stared at it. It bobbed its head and kept watching me, flew to a different perch still close by to escape the wake of a passing boat, and stayed there.
We watched each other for some time. Boats went by on the Charles and didn't notice us. Bikers zipped past on the path and didn't notice us.
Then it spread great gray wings and took off, flying upriver.
I followed.
The steps themselves are warped and buckled, each a huge granite slab about eight inches thick. Time and runoff has eroded the earth beneath some of them, but they're still stable, even though they look something like the steps of a ruined temple. They lead down to a rotting wooden dock that's missing several boards; the edge of the river is shallow enough you probably wouldn't get too wet even if you fell through, but it still looks dangerous.
The fallen tree's branches (and those of the trees that grew around it) made a curtain between me and the river, and the tree itself hid me from the path along Greenough. I don't delude myself by thinking this is an undiscovered place -- the Sierra Mist cans and other litter would prove me wrong in any case -- but there's something deliciously private to it. You have to know where to look to see it, from the path or from the river.
So today I stopped there, and sat, and wrote a while, thinking about books and stories and whether there were mosquitoes here or if I was just imagining it. Boats passed by going either way, none going very fast; kayakers as well.
After a while I paused and just gazed at the river, and then at the banks to either side of me. Which was when I noticed the great blue heron not ten yards to my left.
I stared at it. It bobbed its head and kept watching me, flew to a different perch still close by to escape the wake of a passing boat, and stayed there.
We watched each other for some time. Boats went by on the Charles and didn't notice us. Bikers zipped past on the path and didn't notice us.
Then it spread great gray wings and took off, flying upriver.
I followed.
