October Ice
Recently, I have been waking up early in the morning. It's a Saturday morning and I amble to the kitchen to get myself a cup of Earl Grey tea. I sit down on my couch and gaze out the large windows to watch the morning skies shift colors, barely dusted with each new hue.
We are entering late autumn and all the trees in the backyard are turning gold. On a small hilltop a few houses down, I watch as a maple tree drops a couple leaves, they bounce off the branches and quietly come to rest upon the frosty but green lawn below. It’s very quiet except for the call of a crow now and then. I see a small group of them glide across the rosy skies.
It’s a little after eight in the morning and the sun still hasn’t risen, but I decide to bike to the forest and pay a visit to my favorite trees. Who knows what changes I’ll find in the forest today.
The bike ride to the mountains is bitter cold, but there isn't another soul on the road, so it's still a pleasant ride. I notice how thin the goat willows are looking, with many of their beautiful golden leaves now splayed out and pressed into the ground, iced over by the frost. I ride by an open field of oats and notice that they still haven’t been harvested. I wonder why that is.
Chaos in the Forest
As I begin to hike, the first thing I see is the plethora of icicles hanging underneath the rocks. They drape like beautiful crystal roots. Gradually, the birds begin to awaken and chatter softly in the trees. Fluttering about the branches are some very small birds, although I don’t have my binoculars and the light is still dim, so it’s difficult to identify which species they are.
I am suddenly startled by a tree shaking next to me. When I look up, I see a small red squirrel scampering through the branches. About one minute later, I see another in the adjacent tree. The one above me is quite small, and I think it’s the baby to the parent in the other tree. I watch as he curiously plans his course to jump from tree to tree over the expansive path I stand upon. It takes him a moment, but he eventually finds a branch that extends over the trail long enough to jump easily to the pine next to me.
As I look around the forest, the ground is littered with all sorts of leaves and branches, mud, and rocks. It is visual chaos and nothing about it looks neat, tidy, or perfect. We often strive for things like order and symmetry, classifying them as perfection, but the natural world is unpredictable and messy — and that’s OK. Without this autumnal messiness, the Earth would not have a chance to re-absorb all the nutrients from the fallen debris. I think this is a good reminder that chaos is the most natural aspect of life. Nothing is orderly, consistent, or flawless, so I don’t need to be either.
The Song of the Ice
I stop by a frozen lake for a few minutes to take some pictures of the ice. The shape of the thin ice on the lake forms wings like a fairy or a dragonfly. It’s so delicate, but has distinct points that flare out like an ornate wing.
As I begin to film, I suddenly hear an otherworldly reverberation as the wind moves the thin layer of ice over the water. It’s truly hard to describe the sound. Sometimes it’s a staccato sound like birds chirping through an electric filter or a bright, wobbling whistle. I imagine hearing this sound in space if someone plucked a string into the void. Every time I try and record it, the wind ceases and the ice stops her song.
I wait impatiently for the ice to sing again and turning my head to the right I notice a Eurasian Jay hopping across the grass. I wonder if I can get a picture in time, but he flies off before I even have a chance to lift my arm to take out my camera. A few moments later another one appears, or perhaps it’s the same one, and flies low to land in a tree just above my head. I quickly try and take out my camera to get a shot, but the conditions of light are difficult, my camera is old, and my hands are too cold to hold my lens without shaking. Instead, I enjoy him from afar, admiring the bright streaks of blue on his tanned feathers.
From across the late, a sudden, frigid gale blows through the trees and shakes the leaves off of their branches. They fall onto the ice and begin to glide like elegant ice dancers.
Nature Moves On
I had a silly thought when I first began writing about my experiences in Norway. I worried that eventually I wouldn’t have any stories left to tell, or they would be uninteresting. Maybe everything would become normal and not excite me anymore. But that’s the incredible thing about nature, it is happening all the time everywhere, whether you’re there to witness it or not. There will always be something to see, enjoy, and wonder about as long as you pay attention and stay curious. So I don’t think I’m worried anymore. Life will keep happening whether I'm there to witness it or not, so isn’t it better to try and be a part of it?
I'd love to know, what do you see on a cold autumn morning when you look outside the window? Is the wildlife behaving any differently? Has the frost set in yet?
