Day Off...

So, the title of this post isn't exactly true. I did actually get a lot of work done. Not nearly as much as I would have liked, but enough not to fall too drastically behind. It wasn't a total day off, but the impressions that are left at the end of the day are the ones made while getting unstuck.

I went down to Linn Run State Park and hiked around Adam's Falls. It's a short trail and I was looking forward to seeing the waterfall there for the first time.

As I walked along the trail, I noticed several examples of mushrooms and fungi. Ever since the mushroom walk, I've been made more perceptive of them. To the left are the tasty chicken mushrooms. An entire log was covered with them. I harvested a few, but left the majority. Tomorrow I'll make chicken (mushroom) salad sandwiches for lunch. To the right are puff balls.

I love the fans of color on the underside of these polypores – subtle combinations of dusty rose, magenta, and pale purple. The tops were a creamy white, striated with bands of tan. Nature is full of color inspiration.

I couldn't find the waterfall. So I walked along the trail. Parts of it were extremely rocky. Others were blocked with fallen trees, slick still from yesterday's rain. I slipped a few times (the shoes I wore have no traction), but enjoyed the walk.

In the woods, I came across the ruins of old cabins. I could tell that they were destroyed at one time by fire. Some of the rotting planks, looking like fallen trees, were blackened and charred.

I found some glass. There were no hard edges or fresh fractures. The edges were smooth and bubbly. Darker specks of dirt were fused into the surface of the glass, signs of fire. Nothing remained, except for the stones being swallowed up by the forest and the rusty reminders of sofa springs and bed frames.

Frustrated that I couldn't find the waterfall, I walked back to the trailhead and searched for a map of the area.

I found a map, but it didn't seem right. It said that the waterfall was really close to the start of the trail. I saw nothing. I heard nothing.

And then it clicked. I had walked over a bridge spanning a dry creek. Only parched pebbles and powdery stones lined the bed of the once stream.

I circled around and saw where the waterfall was meant to be. Now only a trickle of irony water sprinkled over the slate walls of the huge depression. Names and dates and sentiments of forever were carved, painted, and scratched into the walls of the dry waterfall.

I hiked back down to the car and found the stream that runs parallel to Linn Run Road. I could imagine it in the spring, swollen with snowmelt. Today it gurgled by, revealing the smooth, round rocks perfect for skipping.

On my way back from my little adventure, I stopped along the side of the road. I was struck by the wide, flat swatches of green leading up to a tree-covered mountain. The leaves of some of trees have turned bright gold and litter the ground in what looks like a carpet of coins.