Toss the Feathers Set

I parked on a dirt patch at the side of Sweet Hollow Road, shrugged on a backpack containing some camera gear, and walked into the heavily forested park past a sign that read, “Suffolk County Parks West Hills Nature Preserve.” The two frames at the bottom of the sign, which on signs of this kind habitually display the names of politicians, had been left empty.

The trail quickly sloped upwards to the north. I followed it for about a quarter mile; then I chose another trail, which I followed west. That trail climbed precipitously upwards, and soon I was breathing heavily. The trail had me at points moving side to side as much as I moved forward, as the steep grade ruled out putting one foot significantly in front of the other.

That second climb, though steep, was only minutes long. I ducked under a tree tilted over the trail at a 45-degree angle. It had been kept from falling completely to the ground when its upper trunk and limbs had been caught by the upper trunks and limbs of its neighbors. The bottom of this toppled tree, suspended mid-fall, was moldering. Lush green moss carpeted the ground around its base and had started to grow on the moribund trunk. I could see the top of the trail just ahead, and I continued to climb.

I turned north again at the top of the short climb and walked leisurely along a gravel-covered path. My boots made crunching noises with each step. It had been raining lightly as I started this walk, but the raindrops since had stopped falling. The cloud-obscured sky visible through the canopy of branches overhead, which had yet to grow spring leaves, shone the soft glow of a frosted lightbulb.

Two small trees, or perhaps a bifurcation atop a single root ball, were bulged and cracked at their bases. Attractive of notice, if not beautiful to my eyes, these phenomena of nature stood out all around the forest. The story of life was everywhere writ large in every stage including birth and death.