Blizzard !

Mon-

“Historic Blizzard” already starting to lay fresh powder on top of the remnants of the storm of a few days ago.  I’m somewhat jaded _ it seems that “historic” means anything that 25 to 30 year old meteorologists cannot personally remember.   But a few feet is very inconvenient for everyone and dangerous for some, and an old retired gent who can sit at home and watch the world turn white has no right to comment on such things.

My guess is that ten years from now, this will not be remembered.  With global warming the various storms and precipitation patterns are inevitably growing more intense.  If I were a betting man, I’d probably predict “historic” weather events almost every year, each dwarfing in magnitude what we all used to consider normal back in the good old days of the 1950’s.
Tue-

Early preliminary to major snowfall, wind picking up, moderate flakes off and on blurring the horizon.  After dark, the wind picked up and this morning about 15 inches on the ground.  Nothing too spectacular, as indicated by the second picture. 

Some claim this shows the power of nature.  500 years ago, the power of nature had already winnowed local tribes to the hardiest young, and a storm like this would lead to death by freezing and starvation.  300 years ago, early settlers would be trapped in cabins for long periods, also worried about cold and hunger.  150 years ago, the farming community would be relatively safe, but necessary outdoor tasks still risked mortal danger and frostbite.  Today  we worry overly about missing a few comforts _ instant transportation, power and connectivity _ as if they were of the same degree.  Nature has lost its bite in most of these local events, but may be avenging itself more long term with warming beginning to destroy the biosphere as we know it.
Wed-

Nowadays, being snowbound is a romantic state of mind.  Just about anyone can get out of anywhere _ even if it takes a helicopter _ if necessary.  Yet it can be a pleasant illusion for those with the necessary time.  Deep snow, frigid cold, harsh wind, long thick icicles _ things people are unlikely to find in a future of underground malls or interstellar spacecraft. 
 

I get just as much caught up in the cultural moods as anyone else.  There is always an edge of disaster, a rush of newness, hopes and fears and jumbles of experiences overloading each day.  Even meditative moments have trouble quelling the tide.  Sometimes nature can help slow me down a little, and this is such a moment.
Thu -

Not much to say about an expanse of snow.  Nothing very dramatic.  Warming ocean waters still resist any kind of permanent freeze in spite of low temperatures for the last few weeks.

I make myself go out and walk around a little, although my toes chill even through three pairs of socks.  What stops me from normal activity in the winter is not the cold, but the lack of shoulder on the roads.  It’s hard enough watching out for my own missteps, but sharing a narrowed icy road with maniacs who must get somewhere can be suicidal.
Fri-

Light snow has covered the world in beauty.  Softly luminous light envelops harmonious whites and greys tinged with soft brown, accented by peeks of dark green.  Flakes continue to fall, there is no time but now, nothing to do but enjoy the show.

I sit quietly in contemplation sipping coffee, adjusting my mood to match the scenery.  Not difficult for me today, I am fortunate in having nothing of the jangling outside world intruding on my peaceful solitude.  A lovely blessing this morning, something to truly appreciate and be thankful for.

Sat-

For all the trouble caused by a foot and a half of snow, its results are singularly unimpressive along the shoreline.  Wind and cold are far more brutal than slush and the remnants of ice washed by tide.  Fish, I am sure, noticed nothing at all.

Beautiful scene for a modern person who need not be concerned with the trivialities of having enough to eat, a cozy place to sleep.  Were I to properly use the miracles daily provided by civilization and science, I could bask in such experience all the time.
Sun-

Nobody going swimming here today.  But tonight we shall be in Florida, where at least the sand is visible.  Miracles of modern science, jet planes, even as they add to global warming.  Would us not taking this one trip a year make a difference?  I suspect not.

We go a little north of Miami, where children are as rare as unicorns.  It’s mostly grumpy older well-off people, a sprinkling of younger burn-outs, and various young-adult menials who must do wealth’s bidding.  Affection has been almost totally transferred, it seems, to dogs in various shapes and sizes.  For me, an excursion to an exotic culture in a very strange land.

 

Still Winter

Mon-

Heavy rain over the weekend washed away most of the residual snow and ice from last week.  Woods have nothing dramatic left, just brown leaves, dull ivy, darkened birch _ even the bright green holly is subdued in the bright overcast.  Another day passes, and suddenly we are past mid January.  Days are already notably longer.

An easy time to be snug and immobile indoors.  Being outside is often a challenge, from bitter cold to freezing rain to snow and ice making walking all but impossible.  And what are the rewards _ no flowers, few birds,  shades of brown?  Yet entering the elements has rewards, if I can just get beyond that storm door.
Tue-

Tangled bare fallen seasons gone

Skies hover colored as the waters

Nothing memorable

Unless I try
Wed-

Centerport Harbor unusually empty in a frigid north wind.  An enterprising clammer takes advantage of that natural resource to use sails to help him drag rakes along the bottom for harvest.  Tough way to make a living, but it does keep you out of fluorescent light hell.

About the only thing I miss from other eras is the lack of open spaces free of people.  Around here, especially, every inch of ground is covered and coveted.  Fortunately we do have parks, most importantly these parks on open water, where I can pretend to be alone for a while.  I don’t know if my periodic desire for solitude is a grace or a fault, but I know I must allow it once in a while for my mental balance.

On lonely trail above blue sea,

Weeds stiffly brown, bare frozen sand,

No birds, no deer, just barren trees,

Empty mind, no thoughts, no plans.
Fri-

This scene will soon change as a new probably ugly steel and glass hotel is stuck onto the façade of the old town hall.   Meanwhile, just below, a movie set is seeking to utilize some of the quaint historic charm of the village.  I’d go for keeping the historic charm, but all the town elders ever think about (because that is the nature of ambitious people) is to raze the ancient and get more money (presumably) from the new.

Oh, it’s sad enough that no one around here even thinks about what they call “patrimony” in Europe.  Admittedly, ours is only a few centuries, and hardly spectacular, but it is real.  At least I have had a chance to see much of it, to meditate on the meaning of time’s passage, and to enjoy fully the world I have inhabited.
Sat-

Warming waters from the Atlantic have prevented much freeze this year _ even this ice is just from fresh water seepage floating on top of the brine.  What little we have is quite pretty, on a cold clear morning.

The invasive phragmite reeds, which everyone hates, float prettily overhead.  The spartina, which everyone wants to thrive, struggles with the polluted waters.  Yet in China, apparently, it is the spartina which is the hated invader, displacing native grasses quite as aggressively as phragmite here.  As a pretty awful invasive species myself, I can sympathize with everyone and everything.
Sun-

Usually these pictures come from my walk in the morning, or at least somewhere outside.  But sometimes I do get very lazy, when it is, for example, drizzling coldly on heavy wet snow.  So it’s just a poor picture out our window, not even bothering to throw on a coat and boots and tramp around a little.  Mea culpa.

Any discipline, writing or art included, is an exercise in setting boundaries.  What are you willing to use, what do you want to leave out.  Will a picture use advanced techniques or just be by design a crude point and click?  Will an essay seek the exact mot juste, or simply express a flow of thoughts at a given moment?  Lurking behind the technique is the reason, but choosing the technique is a larger part of the rationale than we often acknowledge.

 

 

Postfestival Blues

Mon-

Parts of the harbor finally succumb to deep cold with a skimming of ice.  The warm water has been very resistant this year,  these floating patches the first sign of freeze.  Even so, only the upper fresh water layer is affected _ out near the inlet the salt water looks like mid July.

Most lights have been taken down, most decorations put away.  All guests have gone home.  Daily routines have resumed in all their dull glory.  The party is over, even the hangover the party is over, and now the hard wait for spring truly begins.  An easy time to ignore, to hide from, to try to forget.  And yet _ as always _ there is deep beauty in the always fresh scenes each morning, loveliness in the rich colors of southern sunset.
Tue-

Hushed frozen wind
Words thoughts fail

Wonder or infirmity of age?

Answers slide vague as air
Wed-

This bay into Lloyd Neck lies beyond the harbor inlet, and the waters out here are slightly more frigid and unpolluted.  A freeze can almost resemble “the good old days” when everything _ even Long Island Sound itself _ would occasionally ice over in the more normally harsh winters.

On the one hand, I regret those times have passed.  For one reason or another, the waters run free almost all year, every year.   There is a worry about what that may mean.  But, on the other hand, I only have today to enjoy it all anyway.  What reason have I to be troubled of past and future?  Things will change _ they always do _ and whoever is around then will have to adapt and enjoy whatever there is, as I have done with what has been around now.
Thu-

By necessity or choice

Some people must perform

Tasks alone and difficult

While I try to stay warm

Fri-

A dock in Northport village could be Maine, gulls and all.  Northport is known to be picturesque, but many of the commercial photographs concentrate on summer evenings.  The iced harbor hosts a wind that bites to the bone and sucks heat out no matter how warmly dressed you are.

Yet there is a clear channel in the middle of the harbor, where working boats continue to go in and out as long as the ice remains thin enough.   I suppose those folks are extremely proud of how hardy they are _ I would be.  Nevertheless, I’m always amazed that in this day and age people can still be found to do such tough and difficult and presumably nasty work.

Sat-

Irresistible force of the tide meets unmovable object of the rocks and the loser is _ the ice.   Here are all the elements of a good tale or proverb, not excepting the dead reeds that will eventually return no matter what and the encroaching works of man destined for eventual dust. 

Proverbs and tales and thoughts of irresistible and immovable are plentiful and comforting.  They all lie.  The world is all relative and contradictory and complex and there are no absolutes.  Deeper cold for longer and glaciers would halt the tides and move the rocks.  Desperate heat for longer would remove the reeds and eventually the people.  Goldilocks environment is in delicate balance, for which the only appropriate tale is one of worry.
Sun-

 

Imagine how strange a scene like this would look to some primitive from the tropics who had never known snow or ice.  Even for me, the sharp shadows and reflections can make it resemble some setting from a science fiction movie on another planet.  Yet it is part of all the “normal” taken for granted every day.

One of the hardest tasks I find, in a world of electronic distractions, is to maintain a sense of wonder at the “ordinary.”   I become dulled by the repetition of moments, and forget how precious each one is.  I set out strenuously looking for something wonderful, when wonderful is everywhere I wish to concentrate my being.

  

 

Renewed Joy

Mon-

By convention, seasons begin another annual cycle, just like the last one, but subtly different.  So also with the views and daily thoughts in my blog, each very much like each other, like all the others last year, yet each subtly charged, never quite repeating.  So, of course, each moment of my life.

I notice no difference in myself.  Yet almost all my cells, in the solar revolution past, have been replaced one or several times.  Some memories _ what I ate for breakfast in September _ are irretrievably gone, but others such as a summer wedding are deeply etched in memory.  Mysterious, incomprehensible, contradictory, awesome.  I try to great each joyous moment of existence with the respect it deserves.
Tue-

North wind whips

Whitecaps rushing on
While calm geese shelter all day

Old man remembers.

Wed-

Light snow drifts into a quite cold morning.  Only I see these outlined branches against the farther waters.  Dogs and their masters are waiting for better times, not yet desperate enough to brave these minor elements when they have just had the holidays to run around outside as much as they want.

As always, I carry mood within myself, although that is sometimes hard to accept.  The deep chill of short winter days seems made for depression, but it is just as beautiful as summer.  In any case, all my universe and how I seek to appreciate it lies behind these eyes, under my cap, almost immune to the physical world.
Thu-

What marvels seen, such wonders come,

In passing night, each risen sun.
_Karma Save_
Fri-

In spite of 5 degree temperatures, the water is too warm to even skim over yet.  Light snow refuses to melt, mud from recent rain has frozen into the consistency of steel.   A brisk wind rapidly bruises exposed skin, even taking a deep breath can be an adventure.

But the good side of all this is that I have the whole place to myself.  Even the cars are infrequent.  No dogs, no joggers, not even my casual normal fellow walkers.  I can enjoy the peace and quiet, listening to birds and the rustle of the trees.  I rarely notice how antisocial I am until I have the happiness of such moments.
Sat-

Preening feathers, swan said “Behold how lovely am I, the most noble of waterfowl.”

Goose said “Yeah but you can’t do anything except drift.  We take over entire fields, and can migrate incredible distances.”

Duck said  “You never do, though.  I’m the only one around here that has to work for a living.”

“Poor birds,” old man said, turning away, “too stupid to know that I am the glory of the universe.”
Sun-

Haven’t had much snow this year in spite of frigid temperatures lately.  These two inches are about it.  An appropriate blanket of forgetfulness marking the true end of another year gone.

I struggle with the recognition that I am useless and irrelevant.  I no longer share an illusion that I can affect the world.  It is important that I remain true to my culture and my time of life by appreciating it fully.  In all the infinite history of the universe, there has never been anyone like me, and never will be again.

 

 

 

Holiday Cheers

Mon-

What?  This hardly looks cheerful.  Rain (not snow this year) due any second, no sign of happy shoppers, just another drab day in an increasingly drab season.  Solstice passed, we assume the sun is making his way back, but it will be a long journey until spring.  Meanwhile, all our instincts are to burrow in somewhere for the rest of the winter.

These are the times when I must force myself outdoors, to follow the normal routines of walking about, enjoying the few bird calls that are there, watching the play of light and feeling the grace of the breeze.  If I dress appropriately, the world is still an immense playground.  And, of course, there is the added bonus of gatherings of friends and family when I return, warming my soul while my fingers and nose catch up.
Tue-

I drone on about the subtle harmonies of browns when it suits my purposes, trying to contrast how I feel now with my emotions in summer.  But conifers are here in profusion, and their green needles quietly insist I am mistaken.  The white sand, the grey sky, the blue water all join the chorus.  And that is without getting into the brash colorful chatter of manmade objects no matter where I look.  My carefully constructed observations are, inevitably, founded on falsely narrowed perceptions.

The world is too infinitely diverse to describe.  Much of what we could know, we never do.  I suspect there is even more that we are unable to comprehend.  But even in that narrow band of what we think we do know, based on what we think we do perceive, our limitations at any given moment are only allowing us a frozen impression of what our mercurial minds will eventually realize as they slide along and about.  Consciousness is a miraculous gift, reborn each moment, an appropriate thought for these days of solar renewal.
Wed-

Suspended moment, almost unformed, misty and cool and waiting for rain or clearing or something besides the transience of suspended droplets.  Waiting, as it were, for birth, which is really the theme of this season.  The birth of a new year, or the return of the sun, or the religious encapsulation of Christianity.

It is appropriate to have a celebration of being born, for that is hope and future and genetic or cultural continuation.  Bring out all the bright lights, exchange gifts, devour feasts.  The old will soon enough have their day of reckoning, but for now it is all about the bright promise of what will be, and being grateful for what there is.

Thu-

Ah, Christmas skies clear with the dawn.  Lovely symbolism.  Except, like many things, this clearing comes from an unexpected direction.  The east, where the sun is presumably rising, is covered in thick dark clouds, and the light is all from the west.  How silly we often are, to think we know where to look into the future.

I insert here the standard prayer for peace on earth and goodwill for all.  Optimistically, I think that still has a chance to happen, and that after our difficult cultural transitions there may yet be a golden age for all.  It’s a good dream to have.
Fri-

Very mild holiday week _ no snow, in the fifties, verdant lawns.  When I escape the rush, there are quiet unfrequented places in the woods, such as this, where no delivery truck nor yard crew roams.  That may all change in a few years, as the drones frequently given as presents yesterday become common everywhere.  The world continues to change in unexpected ways.

All I can do is be grateful for having lived now, for living now, for still having enough of the wonder of a child to appreciate my existence.  As I grow older, I realize that has been greatest gift of all, and no mere bauble from the mall can produce nearly such happiness.
Sat-

Children’s happy laughter and loud adult conversations have died down, overwhelming anxiety gives way to calm.  Perhaps after New Year’s there will be resignation, perhaps anticipation of all that is to come, but for now it is enough to relax and forget about what was and may be.

Normal life gradually returns as do all the visitors.  The sun continues to rise and set, the ducks and geese swim in the cool, and media inform us of new storms on the horizon.  I am simply happy to look out and be grateful for everything.

  

 

 

  

Solstice Stops By

Mon-

Harbor activities wrap up rapidly now.  The weather has been moderately bad, but normal.  Everyone knows at any given time, it could become horrible for quite a while.  So the boats that are going ashore have gone ashore, and their moorings are now being picked up and stashed in parking lots.  That’s what this little work craft is doing _ in fact, in another week it is likely the docks themselves will no longer be available.

Mornings don’t seem all that different _ well, colder, of course _ but noon sunlight is never all that brilliant, and the outside workday comes to an end surprisingly fast.  Most of the folks who are putting up holiday lights have them blazing by the time the sun goes down.  Judging by the frantic traffic, most of those same people can hardly spare a glance to notice any of this, immersed as they are in last minute necessary tasks.
Tue-

Remove the possible snow, eliminate the fancy flashing lights and eccentric lawn decorations, turn a back on the constant auto traffic and the season has a feeling of free emptiness and quiet.  The birds are often quite hushed, except for a shriek of alarm here or there.  When the wind does blow, its echoes are subdued with no leaves to disturb.  The eye rests on seascapes free of human activity, not even implied by boats bobbing patiently awaiting use.   Docks are tied down, expecting the worst, but the worst is a while off yet.

It’s a good time to reflect on the rhythms of the universe, the tides of my life, and the majesty of each day I am permitted to experience.  Some, apparently, regard such vistas and ask “is that all there is?” seeking a secret logical meaning or imagining great hidden treasures in an inconceivable eternity.  I know I know nothing, but “all there is” in my world and life is infinitely more than I can possibly appreciate properly.
Wed-

A mild spell has everyone who can do so out walking.  Mist softens the harsh outlines of bare branches.  Sienna, ocre, umber soften to grey in the distance, while the muted greens of remaining grass accent the composition.  The same moisture mutes the various constant noises from last minute yard clean-up and road crews getting the pavement ready for the worst.

In a week, there will be jolly festivities, enforced merriment, tense truces in family relations, and the constant requirements of following tradition.  A week after that, everyone will take stock of themselves,  shake off the disappointments of the last year, make resolutions for the new, and gird themselves to get back to “normal.”  Then the decorations come down, cold settles in for good, snow and slush and ice rule the grounds, and I return to life simply being. 

Thu-

Nice effects from the sun low in the sky even near noon.  Without any instrumental change in the temperature reading, simply having the sun and no wind this morning felt warm and fine, no direct sun and a brisk breeze this afternoon feels raw and cuts deeply.  No matter how bleak it may seem, however, the beauty of everything is undeniable.

Day after day, paragraph after paragraph, I drone on and on about beauty and wonder.  Do I not realize there is evil in the world, that people are hungry and children die and pollution pours into the seas?  Am I ignorant of the thousand and one calamities that surround us all?  Mea culpa.  All I know, shallow as I may, is that at my time in life, in my situation,  moments in the world are magical and glorious and worthy of praise, and perhaps that is what I must add to the noisy bedlam.
Fri-

Water is chilling down fast, although it looks the same as always _ I can tell because my warmth is ripped by the steady northeast wind blowing across the empty expanse.  The barnacles on the pilings and the shellfish unseen go on with their normal lives.  Fish _ well, I don’t actually know any of their cycles except for the bluefish, all gone out to deep sea.

I could read up on all this, try to become a naturalist, relearn all the names of the plants and trees and shells and other things I once knew, be amazed by studies and meditations others have produced.  But the tattered remains of my memory are enough for now.  They add to my enjoyment and pleasure, without intruding or overwhelming the experience, and that for this afternoon is exactly where I want to be.
Sat-

Monochrome only slightly broken by the crane, done working for five or six months.  Boatyard activity has slowed considerably now _ well, actually the action moves indoors and out of sight.  Even the yard crews have scraped the last of the leaves off every surface and rarely visit.  Once again, sound is dominated by wind, birds, and an occasional jet plane or siren.  Not exactly ever quiet, but about as much so as it gets until a deep fresh snowfall.

Contrary to expectation, such days can cheer me up.  There is a certain perverse streak in looking at a monotonous landscape settled in depressing chill and just going with the mood.  Nothing to be done, it is all futile, we are lost.  OK, that means it is truly a holiday _ I have no responsibilities, no hopes, no urgent must-be-dones.  Adjust and enjoy the world as it is.
Sun-

At least six geese, more swans and ducks, but as far as I can tell no golden rings.  This avian gathering in a sheltered cove goes on all winter,  out of the wind and with plentiful fresh water seeping through the sand from the hillside.  The worse the weather, the bigger the crowd. 

You would say that other creatures hardly notice solstice, but of course that is wrong.  Now that they have dealt with migration instinct anxieties, if any, males are already preoccupied with mating in the coming spring.  It’s fun to watch the chasing and pairing.  Humans like to feel they have a monopoly on emotions, and also like to believe they have tamed their more primitive behaviors, but some of the actions in this area closely match the plots of many of our soap-opera entertainments.

  

 

 

  

Stormy Weather

Mon-

Harsh blue stretching almost uninterrupted by watercraft, except for the Harbor Master boat which has to remain available all winter even if it eventually gets icebound.  This year the bets seem to be on heavy freeze and nasty storms.  Today is below thirty, and a northeaster is due tomorrow, so I suppose the early season is reinforcing those predictions.

Otherwise, of course, nobody notices.  Up the hill from this tranquil scene, hundreds of kids are standing outside the Halesite Fire Station with their parents waiting for Santa Claus.  No matter how bad the snow wind and rain the malls and stores will be open all week.  Schools and businesses might as well be underground or on a spaceship.  All in all, stormy weather is not what it used to be, hardly cause for concern, surely never life and death, and rarely even an inconvenience.  That is, no doubt, a good thing. 
Tue-

As usual, these pictures run one day prior, when I was walking after my writing routines.  It was twenty five degrees with a raw east wind off the not so distant ocean that cut to the bone and made it feel much colder.  One of my acquaintances, who was stationed in Alaska in the sixties, claims that this cold is worse than anything he experienced at forty below out there.  Of course, he was a lot younger then, and memories tend to blur with the years.  On the other hand, that wind cuts quite bitterly.

Slate grey is in any case the color of the week.  Today it is pouring, with more to come, and you almost need a miner’s headlamp to venture outside.  Here the sea almost seems brighter than the sky.  One clamming boat, whose owner works in all weather to bring in a fresh harvest around the holidays, when prices are often at their best.  Tough way to make a living, lest we forget how just about everyone used to have to live _ and without the warmth and light to come home to that we now assume is our right.
Wed-

No walk in the rain, flooding highways and setting records, so just fall back on an older picture.  Is this dishonest?  Not showing what should be a moderately current photograph with some little idea inspired by it?  I don’t know.

As I get older rigid categories have relaxed a bit in my mind.  I no longer see nature and humans as quite so distinct, nor good and evil, nor truth and reality.  Sometimes the world seems so complicated as to leave me completely confused and helpless.  Why, then, should I find that the same realizations also provide hope and a possible path to wisdom?

Thu-

Swans ignore or do not notice a cold freezing drizzle that dims everything in the distance.  I’m always amazed at what a change of a mere twenty or thirty degrees Fahrenheit can do for our perception of the world.  Suddenly, in weather like this, it seems hostile and distant.

Nevertheless and regardless of my mood, everything is beautiful beyond description.  That is a decent thought to begin each day, as the shrill worries of fragile civilization intrude endlessly. 

Fri-

 

Light snow dusting covers the kayak racks at one of the private neighborhood beaches.  The entire week has been cold, dark, and wet, with an interesting surprise each morning for anyone who must go outdoors.  The overall mood is little helped by the late sunrise and early sunset, if there were a sunset ever to be seen behind the clouds.

Yet I walk along with a smile, quite happily, greeting other regulars out to get a breath of fresh air, or walk their dog, or just enjoy the world.  Most of the crowds who were around for a while trying to work off their Thanksgiving pounds have vanished for a while, although they will surely reappear with new year’s resolutions for a couple of days eventually.  Dressed adequately, this is as rewarding a set of moments as any other, and certainly much more of an experience than trying to understand the world through colored LED screens.
Sat-

Reeds already looking a little bedraggled dark against the sky.  Noticed the sun is rising far south this week _ of course.  It can be a strain to try to notice stuff all the time.   I am grateful I now have the time to do so.

There are many philosophies of life aggressively floating about these days _ purpose-driven or hedonistic or wealth-related.   The “good life” has lots of definitions.  Our consciousness and experience is insanely complex: no single philosophy fits us at all times, in all situations, for each of our ages. But just as once in a while I now like to break out of my relaxed mellow vacuousness and achieve some goal, so back when I was always driven to accomplish tasks I fortunately found moments to breathe in the beauty of my existence. 
Sun-

Caumsett State Park is busy even after a snowstorm in deep winter, but there is room off the beaten path.  Here on the trails through the woods, the leaves are all down and in place _ without the noisy help of yard crews and blowers and rakes and vacuums.   The browns and blue of the sky are relaxing and integrate the cycle of the year with the rest of our memories.   A few green briars or yellow leaves stubbornly resist the elements.

These trees, of course, are all new new growth.  The ancient forest primeval was cut down in the 1700s by the first enterprising settler here, who sold the logs to Europe and the Indies.  It grew back. The jazz age millionaire who wanted a farm leveled it once again.  So little here is even a hundred years old.  And yet, it is woodland, it is thick, and unless someone cuts it down yet again (or the oceans rise to cover these hills) it will be thick primeval forest once again.